


Gold Dust Woman

by julesbeauchamp



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Claire Beauchamp - Freeform, F/M, Jamie Fraser - Freeform, Lallybroch, London, Modern AU, Rockstar!Claire, Scotland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesbeauchamp/pseuds/julesbeauchamp
Summary: Elizabeth.That’s who she was when she was on stage. Fearless and nearly possessed by the lyrics she sang to crowds all over the world. Free. She couldn’t explain the thrill it brought her. It was like a rebirth. She was the biggest rockstar of her generation, travelling all over the world and making art.But that was all a facade.Offstage, Elizabeth turned back into plain Claire Beauchamp. Wrapped in silence and insecurities. Wrapped in her solitude, her only solace in a world of pretend.When her world finally goes crumbling down, she flees to the Highlands to heal more than a broken heart.





	1. Elizabeth

Claire’s life was a constant switch from loud noise and chaos to moments of sudden and complete silence. She switched from one to the other constantly. One second, she was exiting a building, fans rushing towards her, cameras flashing in her face, blinding her; and another, she was in a car, engorged by a silence she found both comforting and anguishing.

Sometimes, the silence was deafening; other times, the noise was so much she thought her ears would burst.

 _Drums. Flashes. Applause. Screams. Her name._  Over and over again. Echoing in the distance — as if she was only a witness of her life happening before her eyes. Unable to move, like a dragonfly in amber.

_Elizabeth._

That’s who she was when she was on stage. Fearless and nearly possessed by the lyrics she sang to crowds all over the world.  _Free_. She couldn’t explain the thrill it brought her. It was like a rebirth for her every time she stepped on that stage. She wore leather, and her nail polish was chipped from playing the guitar. Her nipple pierced. Her curls as riotous as her behaviour. She liked the noise.  _The screams. The applauses. The idolation._  She was the biggest rockstar of her generation, travelling all over the world and making art.

_But that was all a facade._

When she was off stage, Elizabeth turned back into plain Claire Beauchamp. Wrapped in silence and insecurities. Wrapped in her solitude, her only solace in a world of pretend.

She was used to being alone and she never really minded it. After losing both of her parents at a young age, which resulted in spending years in an orphanage, loneliness had become her friend. Her best friend, even. An ally she could always count on and whom never failed her. Even now, when the outside world aduled her and she could have the company of anyone she desired.

_She was a gypsy. With no home. No anchor._

Alone, she spent countless nights listening to music from dusk until dawn. She learnt how to play the guitar and the piano during the rare times she wasn’t obligate to go to school. She scribbled songs in notebooks.  _Melodies_. Everything that came to her made her feel alive.

At eighteen, Claire packed her bags and moved to London to be a musician. She never sought the celebrity life. That wasn’t her end goal. It never was.  All she wanted was to sing for people, and she did just that — in pubs and small venues — until Frank Randall spotted her and made her a star.  _Elizabeth_.

 _His star._  One he created and molded to his desire until she became a mess.  _His mess._

After a ten-month long world tour, she was finally back in London for the final show. One more night, and then she’d be free for a while. Free to hide in her townhouse in Primrose Hill and to start writing again. Free to be alone with her thoughts. At peace, without anyone screaming for her attention.  _Free to be. To feel. To rest._

_One more show._

She loved the last show of a tour. It brought a rare comfort that only came with the knowledge that many days and nights touring the world, meeting people, and singing her songs, were finally coming to the culmination point.

Claire might be famous –  _very famous_. Yet, she guarded her privacy like a fortress, safely tucked away from the public eye and gossip magazines. It was the last piece of herself — _her real self_ — that she still had. At least, she had tried to protect it and was fairly successful at it.  _Until now._

She was meant to be up on stage in less than thirty minutes. She should be preparing, or finishing to prepare. Instead, she stood in her dressing room, her eyes glued to a bunch of magazines with pictures of her boyfriend, naked and in bed with another woman, gracing the front pages.

“I was drugged, Claire…” His voice wasn’t very loud, or maybe it was but she was simply too angry and removed to notice it.

“Don’t fucking say that again, Frank.” She shot him a look before she got up and grabbed her packet of cigarettes.

“Don’t you think it’s humiliating for me?” He walked over to her, almost looking pitiful. His face didn’t seem to show any humiliation, though. Frank never bothered with drugs, and he was too smart to fall into such an easy trap by a random woman. Claire knew he slept with that woman and he was simply asleep when she took the pictures, not drugged.

“Humiliating  _for you?_!” She looked at him dumbfounded and quickly lit a cigarette to occupy her fingers, fighting the urge to slap him.

“Next time, don’t take drugs, and maybe you won’t end up in a hotel room with a hooker who will send the pictures to tabloids. Or you know what? At least don’t lie to me about it. That might be what your rep will tell the press, but we both know that’s not how it went!”

“I’m not lying!” he protested, and she almost wanted to laugh. That was rich.

“Yes, you bloody well are!” she responded, throwing one of the magazines at his face.

“You have had many mistresses and I always closed my eyes on them. I always acted as if I didn’t know, because I felt like I probably owed you for what you did for my career, but I always knew, Frank. The least you could do is be honest with me and stop pretending I’m stupid,” she spat out, anger making her blood boil. She wasn’t angry at him, at least not fully. She was angry at herself for staying for so long.  _For being stupid for so long. For letting him use her for so long._

“Claire,” he sighed, his eyes pitiful. “Darling —“

“Don’t ‘darling’ me.” She took a step back, her eyes glued on him as she blew out some smoke from between her lips.

“We need to talk about this. Resolve it.” He reached for her cheek and touched it, making her shrink away from his touch.

“Resolve what? There is nothing to resolve,” she questioned, pushed his hand away.

Frank used to be a protective figure. The first man who took care of her and loved her the way she always thought she deserved to be — at least at the beginning. He was older than her.  _Wiser_. Always looking out for her. She used to believe his words were sacred — that she knew nothing and he knew better. As it turned out, he was the biggest asshole she had ever met.  

“I’m going on stage and closing my tour. After that, I never want to see your face again, understood?” She spoke calmly as she finished her cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray.

“You can’t do that! I’m your manager and most importantly your boyfriend.” His voice was soft and tender, similar to the way it was any time he tried to get on her good side, or when he wanted to manipulate her into his games.

“We’re a team, darling. And we’ve been one since the beginning when I found you in that pub in Camden. Let’s not ruin this good thing we have because of a misunderstanding, yes?”

 _Found her._ As if she had been some piece of trash abandoned in the streets.

She should have ended this a long time ago, way before he turned her into a shell of herself. A real mess. But she never found the strength for it. Not until now. She was tired.  _Done_. It was the last straw that broke the camel’s back.

“You’re neither one of those anymore. Deal with your mess, play the victim, I don’t fucking care, it’s not my problem.” She crossed her arms, as if to shield herself from him. She couldn’t believe she thought she loved that man once.

“I just want you to leave me alone and to be done with you for good,” she finished, watching him. His face was neutral, devoid of any expression.  _No anger. No sadness. Nothing._

“You need time. I understand.” His mouth curled up into a smile — a smile that repulsed her at most.

“I’ll give you time, my darling,” he added softly, still smiling.  

“Get the fuck out, Frank.” She didn’t know by what miracle, but she hadn’t hit him yet. She was also surprised at how her voice remained so composed and calm, when all she wanted was to scream.

Slowly, he moved closer to her, his eyes darkening and expression shifting. Whenever that happened, the sight frightened her, but she didn’t move this time. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

Frank wrapped his arms around her and leaned closer. She still didn’t bat an eyelash.

“You were nothing without me, Claire, never forget that,” he whispered in her ears. “And you are nothing without me either. I made you. All of you. Elizabeth is my little project. One I can destroy just as quickly as I created.”

She closed her eyes as he spoke, swallowing the disgust she had for this man. And disgust was being polite. He was right, though. Without him, she wouldn’t be where she was, but she was pretty sure that his absence would be a blessing and not a curse after all.

A knock at the door came before she could say anything, and Frank let go of her, still smiling that little bastardish smile of his.

“Come in,” she answered as she composed herself and turned her glance toward the door.

“Claire, love, we need to get you ready if you want to be on stage on time.” Simon, her assistant, stood at the door, his eyes travelling from Claire to Frank.

“Everything okay, babe?” Simon asked, slightly frowning. The pictures had been released that morning and the scandal was no longer a secret to anyone at this point, even less to people who were part of Claire’s team.

“Yes, Frank was on his way so I can finish getting ready.” She looked at the Englishman, staring him down. “Right?”

“Indeed, I was.” Smiling again, he leaned and kissed her cheek before walking towards the door. “Good luck tonight, darling.”

Claire bit the inside of her cheek to avoid saying anything and waited for him to leave the room and for Simon to close the door.

“Are you alright?” He walked over to her, a worried expression taking residence on his face. Simon was American, exuberant, and fabulous. Most importantly, he was Claire’s best friend, a brother she never had. They met the first day she arrived in London and they had been inseparable ever since.  He started to work for her as her assistant when her career took off. He never truly liked Frank — no one did.

“I’m as fine as I can be,” she admitted, looking down. “I don’t know if I can go up there, Sim.”

“You don’t have to, but I know you can, babe.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. “You are made to be on stage, so please don’t let whatever happened with that asshole ruin it, okay? He should be the one hiding, not you.”

Nodding, Claire held him close. “I know, I just can’t help it. I think about what all those people must be thinking right now— ”

“All those people came to see you. They’re out there, waiting for you. Screaming your name because they love you so much.” He smiled, booping her nose with his finger. “Bring them the show they came to see.”

“I’ll change quickly and I’ll come out, alright?” She looked at him, smiling softly. The stage fueled her, she would never deny such a thing. She was invincible up there, no matter what was going on around her or how she felt deep down.

As soon as she turned into Elizabeth, she was an entirely different woman. A powerhouse. A force to be reckoned with. No one would ever take that away from her, not even Frank.

“I’ll come and get you in fifteen minutes, okay?” Simon kissed her cheek.

“Fifteen minutes,” she confirmed, patting his arm. “I’ll be ready.”

Winking, he kissed her cheek one more time and left her dressing room, leaving after him only silence.

Claire stood there for a while, eyes glued to the door. The only sound in the room was her heart pounding in her chest, travelling upwards until she felt a ringing in her ears. She could hear the rumble outside. People coming and going backstage, making sure everything would be ready for her to go on to start the show.

After another quick cigarette, she sat down at her vanity and untied her hair to let her curls roam free, just the way she loved them. She rubbed some wax product between her palms and brushed her fingers through her hair with it to tame the frizziness. Not that it could be controlled completely, but it helped a little.

She continued her preparation, next applying some makeup. A good base of Nars tinted moisturizer in  _Terre Neuve_  — the lightest one they have — and some Glossier Cloud Paint in  _Storm_ , a warm rose to give her cheekbones some life. To finish it off, she grabbed her kohl pencil and filled in her waterline generously, making her eyes water a bit. She changed into a custom  _Gucci_  sequin jumpsuit — something Claire would never wear in her everyday life but was Elizabeth’s signature look. She finished off her transformation with some Vetement black leather platforms and looked at herself in the mirror.

She was never able to explain what seeing herself dressed like this did to her. It was like an armour. The nervousness in the pit of her stomach dissipated and her hands stopped shaking, at least for a minute.

Another knock came quickly before Simon’s voice called from behind her door, “babe, it’s time.”

“Yes, I’ll be right out,” she answered, checking herself in the mirror one last time. Her hands started to shake again, but not from nervousness.  _From something else._

Claire opened her bag and took out a little pouch of white powder. Carefully, she dabbed a small amount on the back of her hand, avoiding her reflection in the mirror whenever she did something like this. She needed help, she knew it, but she was ashamed. She snorted the powder quickly, trying to ignore the burning sensation in her nostrils, and closed her eyes for a second to collect herself as her head continued spinning.

When she opened her whisky eyes, her pupils were dilated, and her body temperature increased as the drug made its way through her blood vessels. She wiped her nose quickly, making sure no trace of her misstep was inadvertently left on her.

No one knew she started consuming cocaine over a year ago, when the pressure became too much and Frank started to diminish her and her work a bit more every day. She wasn’t proud — far from it. She needed help. She simply didn’t dare to ask for it. She thought it’d get better by itself. She had decided this would be the last time she touched that shit.

When she came out of her dressing room, she was impeccable.

_She was Elizabeth._

Simon gave her a reassuring look and squeezed her hand before he followed her towards the stage’s entrance. She could hear the people, the screams for her echoing in a packed Wembley Stadium. The closer she got to the stage, the more blinding the light was starting to get. Claire was dazzled by the spotlight, which was probably a fair metaphor of her own life.

It often felt like walking towards the gates of heaven when she walked onto the stage. She felt good, full of something she never could describe properly. A mixture of adrenaline and the most utterly calming feeling of peace.  _Maybe it was simply a secondary effect of the drug? Who knew, at this point._

Then, she heard it.

_The drums. The base. The music starting. The screams increasing. Her name. Over and over again._

She slid her guitar over her head and took a long and deep breath. Ignoring the faint taste of cigarette in her mouth, as well as her tingling nostril and ringing ears.

That evening, when Claire stepped on stage, she couldn’t prevent the slight smirk forming on her lips as she saw all those people acclaiming her.

One part of her core loved silence and peace. The other one relished in the noise and the music. Without one or the other, she wasn’t complete.

**********

Claire woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. She never wanted to become the rockstar stereotype she often made fun of when she wasn’t famous, but she had to admit that clichés were clichés for a reason. Maybe it would have helped not to find a manager such as Frank — even less, start a romantic relationship with him — but she wasn’t the kind of person to dwell on regrets and what she should have done in the past.

Mornings brought new days and she intended to make the most of it. After all, it seemed Frank’s cheating scandal had been a blessing in disguise, as she could now get rid of him not only as her boyfriend but also as her manager as well.

“Simon?” Claire called from her bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She had no recollection of getting home last night, nor what time she did. After the show, she had partied with the whole team until the early hours and it was probably now afternoon.

“Rise and shine,” he smirked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m not sure about the shining part.” She couldn’t help but smile as she sat up slowly. “God, I’m shattered.”

“You’ve been on the road for ten months, you had your longest show last night and then we partied all night.” He walked over to her, holding a tea. “If you’re not shattered, it means you’re dead.”

“I’m not sure about many things, but I’m certain headaches don’t exist in the afterlife,” she grinned, taking the mug he presented her. “Thank you.”

Simon sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her arm. “How are you? Mentally, I mean.”

“Meh,” she said sincerely before taking a long sip of tea, letting the liquid burn her throat and comfort her cold bones. “Yeah, meh is pretty much how I feel. I think I need a break, and a real one.”

“You deserve a break,” he smiled. “You’ve worked your ass off for this tour. Before that, it was the promotion of your album, and even before that, it was making said album. You haven’t properly rested for what? Two years? Your body can only take so much, Claire.”

“Yeah, I know.” She took another sip of tea, leaning against the headboard. “And now with Frank’s mess, it does seem like a good time to stop and regroup before I start anything again. I need to sort myself out.”

“About Frank…”

“What?” Claire looked at her friend, worried suddenly.

“He called a few times, he wants to talk to you or come around but I told him no. I suspect it won’t be long until he shows up, you know it.”

“Fuck’s sake,” she mumbled, putting the mug on her bedside table. “Well I don’t want to stay here anyway, he has a key and I need a holiday.”

“Well, just tell me where and start packing.” He kissed her head and got up. “I’ll arrange that for you.”

“Where?” She closed her eyes, thinking for a minute. “I don’t know. Not too far, and somewhere quiet and peaceful. Somewhere with really bad phone service.”

“I have the perfect place for you, babe. Pack warm and cosy clothes.” Smirking, Simon grabbed his phone and walked out of her bedroom.

“Alright, I got the note,” Claire responded, which turned into a yawn — a long one, just like one from a child waking up from a nap. “Thank you for knowing that I hate warm places,” she said a bit louder, as he wasn’t in the room anymore.

“Of course, babe!” She heard Simon’s voice in the hall and couldn’t help but smile.

She caught her reflection in the big mirror lying against the wall and rolled her eyes at her poor state. Her hair was all over the place. She had thankfully taken off her makeup after the show and before the party, but her under-eyes were creased and she was paler than usual. “Good God, Beauchamp.”

“Hey, Beauchamp.” Simon appeared at once, making her jump slightly. “Private plane leaves in an hour.”

“Already?” Her eyebrow rose as she looked at him. “I didn’t even start packing yet—”

“Just get ready, I’ve got you,” he winked, disappearing into her walk-in closet.

Truly, she didn’t know what she would do without Simon.

*****

_Scotland._

Claire had come a couple of times but mostly stayed within big cities like Glasgow and Edinburgh for shows. She rarely stayed for more than two days, as she would already be on her way to another destination.

Simon smirked, helping her with the bags. “Here’s the program, I rented this car for you. The place is about fifteen minutes away from here, and the address is on the GPS so you don’t get lost, but I’m sure you’ll be fine. The cottage will not have much cell service, but it has great wifi in case you need to Whatsapp me for one thing or another — or just because you miss my face.” He smirked at the end of his instructions, and that made her smile.

“Everything is ready for you there. Fridge packed and all that jazz.”

Claire hugged him tightly and held him for a bit, closing her eyes. “Thank you. Really.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here with you?” He looked at her, stroking her hair back.

“I am,” she reassured him. “Really. I need to be alone but I’ll call you at least once a day, alright? And I need you to make sure things are fine in London and that Frank doesn’t try shit while I’m away. I know Ned and my producers are on it, but I’ll feel better knowing you’re around them.”

“I’ll update you if anything goes down.” He held her close. “I’ve got your back, babe.”

“I know you do.” She gave him a smile at that moment. One full of gratitude and love.

Simon winked and handed her the keys of the Jeep. “That’s for you.”

“Seriously, I don’t know how I would function without you,” she said sincerely, getting into the car.

“You would be just fine,” he answered as he put the bags in the back of the car and closed the door, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy to be your right hand. You know you’re like my little sister, and I love you.”

“I know,” she answered softly, touching his arm. “I love you too. And text me when you’re back in London, okay?”

“I promise I will.” Smiling, he closed the door of the car and waved as she started the engine and drove off into the Scottish Highlands.

She never stepped foot in the Highlands before, and the more she drove, the more the sight of it all rendered her speechless. The sky was clear and it wasn’t raining — which, for Scotland, was a rare occasion — and she took it as a good sign her trip would be just fine.

Claire knew being away wouldn’t resolve her problems, even less the ones of her addictions, but it wasn’t as if she took cocaine multiple times a day, every day. She could go days before another dose, and she had faith in herself to be able to stop fully. Without Frank and the pressure of touring, she’d be fine. Deep down, she was strong. She simply needed to find her strength again. Strength that her ex-boyfriend spent his time meticulously erasing without her noticing it.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, the GPS notified her she had arrived at her destination. Claire got out of the car and lit up a cigarette before taking her bags. It wasn’t the most practical thing to do, trying to carry bags while smoking, but it’s not like anybody was around to see her anyway.

The little cottage was further down the road but not accessible by car, so she started walking towards it, letting the crisp air hit her porcelain skin.

“Smokin’ is no’ good for ye lass.” The voice was Scottish. Not that it was surprising, given where she was. And it was both hard and soft, like a ripe peach.

Slowly, Claire turned around, her whisky eyes focusing in on a giant with fiery red hair. He was beautiful, though his face seemed a little severe. Maybe it was just his expression, as he didn’t seem all that thrilled to see her. “Not minding your own business isn’t either.”

“Ah. A Sassenach,” he confirmed to himself, rolling his eyes at her response.

“I beg your pardon?” She looked at him, dumbfounded. “Do you think this is  18th-century Scotland or something?”

The Scot ignored her and crossed his arms. “Are ye lost?”

“Even if I were, I wouldn’t tell you.” She started to walk again, making her way towards the little cottage.

“Are ye the one who’s rentin’ that?” He asked, his accent thick enough to be cut by a knife.

“None of your business, Braveheart,” she answered after blowing out some smoke.

“Och, actually ‘tis.”

Claire stopped, rolling her eyes before turning around to look at him. “No, it’s not. Have a nice day sir.”

“I’m sorry to dissapoin’ ye, Sassenach, but ye’re rentin’ the cottage on my property which also means I’m the one rentin’ it to ye—”

“Oh.” She had a glass face, she knew it, so she might as well not try and hide her embarrassment.

“I dinna believe ‘tis ye I had on the phone this mornin’, it sounded much less posh and much more American.” His mouth flicked up into what seemed like a smile but he could also just be grimacing, “more friendly too –”

“No, it wasn’t.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks turning crimson.

Finally, the redhead made his way towards her. “I’m James Fraser, lass.”

“I’m Claire Beauchamp,” she said in turn, finally really looking at James Fraser for the first time. She had noticed his impressive height and his fiery red hair, but she had failed to notice his eyes. Until now. They were the most peculiar shade of blue she had ever seen. There was something about them…something she couldn’t describe.

“Welcome to Broch Mordha, Claire.” The way her name rolled off his tongue so naturally actually surprised her in the most pleasant way. It was as if it had been created only for him to say, which was a rather odd thing to note upon a first meeting. She noted it anyway.

He was holding out his hand to her and she shook it, feeling the heat emanating from his skin against hers. “Thank you, Mr. Fraser.”

“Ye can call me Jamie, lass.” He looked at her almost amused. “Let me get yer bags and show ye the cottage, aye? I’ll start the fireplace for ye.”

Before she could answer, he had taken her bags and was walking towards the house. Blinking, Claire quickly followed him and finished her cigarette, her eyes carefully studying him and his movements.

The thing that struck her the most was that for the first time in a long time, someone didn’t seem to know who she was — or, at least did a really good job at hiding it. Yet for the first time in a long time, she actually felt seen.


	2. A Stranger In a Strange Land

The cottage was perfect. It was exactly what Claire had imagined when she asked Simon to find her a quiet and peaceful place to relax. It was spacious and warm, with wooden floors and antique furniture gracing the space. The fireplace was in the middle of the living room and an open kitchen overlooked the other side. The windows had the most breathtaking views over the Highlands and there were shelves full of books. There was even a piano facing the wall. 

It was an odd feeling, but Claire felt instantly at home as she looked around. As if she had been here before.  _Maybe in a previous life_ , she thought.

“The fridge is packed but in case ye need anythin’, the village is twenty minutes away by car and there’s a Tesco and a general store, among other wee shops. Ye will also find fresh milk and eggs on yer doorstep every Wednesday. We’ve got some animals on the estate for it,  it’s part of the price for rentin’,” the Scot’s explained quickly after they entered the cottage.

“Yer friend didn’t tell me for how long ye were planning on stayin?” he turned, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Uh,” she hesitated, thinking for a brief second.  _She actually didn’t know_. 

“A few weeks, I guess. Maybe a month or two… I’ve been working a lot and I just need time away from London to rest and reset. How long can I stay?”

“As long as ye want, Sassenach. Ye can stay forever for all I care, ” he shrugged, putting her bags in the living room. “Just let me know when ye plan on leavin’ though.”

“I only arrived and you already want to know when I leave?” She tried to joke with him, but his expression didn’t move. His grumpiness was almost amusing to her.

“I was just curious is all, Sassenach.” He walked towards the fireplace and bent down to start it.

“It’s a beautiful place…” She watched him rummaging logs and sat on the edge of the sofa. “So you live next door?”

“Aye,” he answered, taken by his task.

Claire nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, her eyes travelling around and stopping on the piano. “Do you play?”

“Och no, I’m rather tone deaf,” he answered without looking at her. “Do ye?”

“A little bit,” she responded hesitantly. She was far better at playing the drums or the guitar.

“Can I smoke in here?”

“Ye canna.” He got up once the fire had started and brushed his hands on his jeans. “Ye’re in Scotland, take advantage of the bonny air outside. It will do yer lungs some good while ye ruin them wi’ the smoke.”

Claire couldn’t help but grin, “Thank you for the advice, it’s very kind of you.”

The Scot made a low sound deep in his throat. “I didn’t say anythin’ funny—”

“You’re funnier than you think you are, then.” She crossed her arms, watching him.

He ignored her remark but his lip flicked up quickly, and she felt a ping of pride at this slight accomplishment.

“All the numbers ye need are on the fridge and I’m no’ verra far if ye have any questions but dinna exaggerate, aye?” Jamie added, walking towards the hall.

“You won’t even realise I’m around, I promise.” Claire got up and followed him, wondering if he really didn’t know who she was or if he simply didn’t care. Either way, it was bliss.

“Enjoy yer stay, Sassenach.” He opened the door and, without a second look, he was out.

“See you, grumpy bear,” she mumbled, watching him walk back toward the main estate.

Shutting the door, Claire leaned against it for a moment and closed her eyes, letting the silence fuel her. In London, even at her home, she could hear noises coming from outside.  _Here_ ,  _nothing_. Letting out a sigh of contentment, she grabbed her bags and brought them to the bedroom upstairs.

She didn’t know what to do with herself. It had been months since she had been alone with her thoughts, and as much as she had craved such a thing, now that it was here, she started to wonder if coming here had been such a good idea after all. Nonetheless, she wasn’t going back to London anytime soon, so she might as well get used her solitude again.  _Her oldest friend._

As she emptied her suitcases and meticulously put her clothes in the closet, she thought about Frank. Of the first time she had met him and how different he had been then.  _Charming and funny. Reassuring and kind._ That was the man she had fallen in love with eight years ago — not the man who was now driven by the thirst for money and fame. The man who constantly put her down, bit by bit, until the last drop of self-respect and confidence had completely evaporated. She knew that without him she wouldn’t have the career she had today. But thinking about it now, it seemed to have been more of a curse than a blessing.

**********

A rooster crowing at dawn wasn’t exactly the way Claire imagined waking up for her first morning in Scotland. Yet, it wasn’t that surprising, given she was in the countryside. It was too early —  _way too early_  —  for this, she thought in a state of half-consciousness.

“Fucking hell,” she mumbled to no one particular as if saying it out loud would make the crowing stop. Groaning, she turned around and buried her head under the pillow, trying to block out the sound.

It went on for twenty minutes, at least. Maybe more. She eventually decided she might as well get up and get herself some coffee and a cigarette.

Yawning, she leaned up to grab her phone and check it, her eyelids still heavily rooted with sleep. She had no service and only one text on Whatsapp. It was from Simon, wishing her a good night and informing her he’d call her sometime today. She smiled and put her phone back, getting up.

The wooden floor was warm under her bare feet, but a cold breeze slid under her pyjamas and made her shiver. She walked downstairs and took about thirty minutes — plus a couple of curse words — to try and make the fireplace work.

Claire briefly wondered if the grumpy Scot of a neighbour was an early bird, and decided he must probably be. She also found herself wondering about him. Did he live alone?  Why did he seem so annoyed during the brief time she had seen him? How old was he? Probably around her age. Maybe a bit younger, she realised.

She was intrigued by him and that fact alone amused her. She hadn’t been intrigued by anyone in a very long time. Actually, she didn’t think she had ever been  _fully_  intrigued by anyone before.

Once the coffee was ready, she wrapped a thick woollen plaid around her shoulders and went on the porch to smoke her morning cigarette. It didn’t particularly taste good, but it tasted better than any other she would have during the day. She never understood why that was always the case.

Leaning in the rocking chair, Claire sipped some coffee and watched the dawn. It was breathtaking — like landscapes painted by the likes of Alfred De Breanski or Gustave Doré. Quickly, she realised her grumpy neighbour had been right about the fresh air.  _It felt cleansing._  She almost didn’t light her cigarette because of it, instead of feeling like some polluting stranger in a sacred land. 

Shaking her head, she lit it anyway and tried not to take his patronising to heart. She didn’t know the guy, after all, and smoking was an addiction. One far less dangerous than cocaine. Dangerous being relative, of course. She knew cigarettes could kill her in the long term too — but if she was smoking, she wasn’t taking drugs, and it was a small improvement.

Claire closed her eyes for a moment and sipped some coffee, letting the liquid warm her to the bones. Listening to the wind, she hummed a melody she thought she’d need to write down before she’d forget it. 

A few minutes passed and she took the last hit from her cigarette, eyes still closed.  _Unbothered_.  _At peace._ Until a voice came to shatter the calmness.

“Ruining yer lungs, I see.” The blunt observation made her eyes pop open at once, landing on the giant redhead by the name of James Fraser. He was in running gear and sweaty, yet his voice didn’t sound one bit breathless as he jogged on the spot.

“Cleansing yours?” she retorted, blowing out some smoke before smiling.

“Aye, bonny air for it.” He watched her with raised eyebrows. He seemed less grumpy but still bore a smug expression that she wanted to slap off his gorgeous face.

“You woke up early on purpose to go running? Good lord,” Claire grimaced, sipping her coffee. “That’s remarkable. Or…completely insane.”

“And ye woke up early because of the rooster, didn’t ye? I should have warned ye, Gary likes to wake up verra early and makes sure everyone else does too.”

“Gary, is it?” She turned her glance towards the rooster on the fence. “Well yeah, Gary woke me up earlier than I had planned but you were right, the fresh air does good.”

“It would be better wi’out the cigarette, Sassenach. ‘Tis more effective for the lungs and all—”

“Would you join me for a coffee?” she asked before he could finish his anti-tobacco ramblings, and saw something flicker in his blue eyes. It was almost as if he was surprised by her question. But the Scot quickly got back to himself.

“No,” he answered simply, still jogging on the spot.

“You’re really friendly,” Claire couldn’t help but grin. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“I get told constantly, aye,” he winked. Or it seemed like he tried to, anyway. It looked more like a silent sneeze, both eyes closing at the same time. It wasn’t a smile but it was already an improvement. “Have a good day, Sassenach.”

“You too.” She watched him jog back to his house and she shook her messy head of curls. She liked him already and she knew they’d be friends if she stuck around long enough. Claire also knew she’d get a cold if she stayed outside any longer.

Getting up, she went back into the cottage and made a detour by the kitchen to drop her empty mug in the sink before going upstairs. She briefly considered calling Simon, but she knew he was most likely still asleep given the early hour, and went to take a long bath instead.

***********

The village wasn’t very big. At most, it consisted of a fountain, surrounded by little shops and cafes. If it weren’t for some modern cars, the village would have seemed to be frozen in the 1960s, which Claire found extremely charming. Charmed by the feeling of being transported into the past — a feeling she desperately wanted to experience. She often felt nostalgia for times she had never lived through.

Walking around, Claire took a long breath of fresh air and smiled. The weather was typically Scottish. Windy and gloomy. Where everything seemed grey, except for the vibrant green of the Highlands around her. It was exactly what she loved. The atmosphere almost mysterious — as if the place was permanently stuck in an autumnal haze.

She received a few odd glances as she walked around — not because people recognized who she was, but because she wasn’t a familiar face. She was a sassenach, the Scot wasn’t wrong about that, but people seemed friendly enough not to mind this small detail. It wasn’t the 18th century anymore, she thought, rolling her eyes at the nickname he had given her.

Claire carefully studied the window of the little antique store, where things seemed from another era, and smiled. Her glance stopped on a vase. It was rather typically shaped, but the blue colour was exactly the same shade as her mother’s favourite dress. Having lost both her parents at the age of five, she barely remembered more than a few details about Henry and Julia Beauchamp.  _The sound of her father’s voice. The songs her mother sang to her. The softness of her lips whenever she kissed her cheeks. And that blue dress._  She didn’t have many photographs either, but one of them had her mother wearing it and to Claire, it was the way her mother would look like forever. Young and happy, wrapped in a gown of blue velvet.

She walked inside, the little bell announcing her entrance, and removed her beanie, shaking her head of curls.

“Good day to ye,” Came from a soft voice in the back. It belonged to an elderly woman with the most magnificent head of grey hair and the warmest smile. She wasn’t very tall and her eyes were a peculiar shade of green.  

“Hello,” Claire answered, returning the smile.

“Och, ye’re no’ from here,” the lady grinned, making her way towards the Englishwoman.

“No, I’m not, I guess that much is obvious,” she smiled in return, quickly looking around the shop.

“I’m Moira Wilkie, lass,” she winked. “Nice to meet ye…?”

“Claire,” she stated, “Claire Beauchamp—”

“How can I help ye, Claire? Are ye lost, perhaps?” The question startled Claire, and the piercing green eyes asking it even more. She was lost and that woman seemed to know it and implied it by such a question. It had nothing to do with wanting to give her directions on where to go around here. It was much more than that.

Claire smiled softly, avoiding the question. “I’ve seen the vase in the window and I’d like to buy it. The royal blue one.”

“‘Tis a beauty!” Moira exclaimed, quickly going to get it for her. “Did ye buy a wee house aroun’ here that needs decoratin’?”

“Oh no,” Claire looked around again, studying some of the old books on the shelves. “I’m just here for some holidays. I arrived yesterday—”

“Ye chose a bonny place for it and a bonny time. The festival is starin’ this week! I hope to see yer aroun, ‘tis always lots of fun.” Moira walked over the counter, holding the vase.

“Sounds good to me,” Claire smiled, watching her.

“I ken I might be biased because I lived here all my life but ‘tis really special. Somethin’ in the air—”

“So I’ve heard,” Claire responded in agreement, thinking about her neighbour’s words. “And it’s gorgeous, too. I love living in London but it’s nice to be in a place so calm and surrounded by so much nature.”

“I bet ‘tis a nice change!”

“Yeah,” Claire responded as she grabbed a few books. “You can add those too.”

“A beauty and a brain, eh?” Moira winked, wrapping up her purchases. “Good literary choices, dearie. I can tell a lot abou’ someone by the books they chose, I ken ye and I would go along just fine.”

“I’m here for a while, you most likely will see me around for a bit,” Claire said softly,  looking into her handbag for her wallet.

“I hope! I’m sure ye will love this place too much to leave.” The grey-haired woman looked at her, smiling. “Happens a lot.”

Claire shrugged and paid her things with a grin in return. “Who knows?”

“Maybe I do,” Moira winked again, handing her the bag. “The Highlands do wonders for broken hearts, lass.”

Frowning, Claire took the bag, but her face quickly softened, “You seem like a very wise woman—”

“Been told so, once or twice.” She leaned against the counter, smiling warmly. “And at my age, ye ken these things…”

“You don’t look a day over fifty,” Claire smirked, putting on her beanie.

Moira laughed, “I like ye already, lass!”

“Thank you for the vase and the books.” Smiling warmly, Claire made her way towards the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See ye, dearie,” Moire smiled broadly, watching her walk out of the shop.

The feeling didn’t leave Claire for the entire afternoon after she left the shop. Moira seemed like an old friend. One she had known all her life, almost like a grandmother figure. One she sadly didn’t know either. She couldn’t help but hear the elderly woman’s words played over and over again in her mind:

_“The Highlands do wonders for broken hearts, lass.”_

She hoped Moira was right. Though, she knew she had more than a broken heart to cure.

Her hands started to shake, notifying her that she needed something. Something more than a cigarette, but she ignored it and instead grabbed for her pack and her lighter in her purse. Her belly started to ache. It always did. And she felt nervous.  _Anxious_. Claire quickly lit the cigarette and tried to ignore her craving for drugs. “You don’t need it,” she mumbled to herself before taking a long inhalation and letting the smoke burn her gullet.

Her hand trembled slightly as she smoked, making her way towards the Jeep. She stood next to the car for a few minutes, smoking and feeling droplets of rain against her porcelain skin. Once done, she quickly got in the car, throwing the last of her cigarette away. Inside, she took another long breath and closed her eyes. Slowly, the feeling went away. It would be back — but for now, Claire tried to think about something else.

Starting the engine, she drove out of the village and turned on the radio. “ _Hey Jude”_  by The Beatles started playing and she couldn’t help but smile, hearing her mother’s voice sing it to her. That was a song her mother sang to her often. A song she deeply loved.

_Hey Jude, don’t make it bad_  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
Then you can start to make it better

She started to sing along.  _Softly_. Her voice raspy and hoarse, just like Julia’s used to be.  _And warm_. So warm, like liquid gold. Her voice had been a gift from her mother. A gift she would cherish forever.

_“Nah nah nah nah nah…”_  She hummed before realising the car had slowed down and suddenly stopped in its tracks. “What the fuck?”

“No, no, don’t fucking die on me,” Claire sighed, leaning her forehead against the driving wheel. “Oh, come on!”

It was pissing down with rain and she was stuck in the middle of the nowhere, with no phone service. She couldn’t walk like that back to the house, it would take too long and most likely give her the flu. Plus, she wasn’t even wearing a proper coat.

Claire decided to wait. Surely it would pass, it wasn’t raining so badly ten minutes before. That was how the weather worked here. Temperamental. Like her, in a way. Though, the comparison didn’t amuse her very much.

She looked at her phone — no signal. She had wanted that much when she decided on a holiday. “Joke’s on me,” she mumbled, shoving her phone back into her purse.

She didn’t know exactly how long she stayed in the car, waiting for the rain to either stop or calm down. All she knew was that no other vehicle had crossed her path in all this time. Not one. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and turned the music louder, deciding to ignore the world around her for however long the weather decided to be a little shit.

“Sassenach!” The voice made her jump slightly and open her eyes at once.

The redhead was knocking on her window, drenched by the rain. And his displeased expression would have made her laugh if she hadn’t controlled herself.

She turned down the music and opened the window, “Hello—”

“Are ye broken down?” Jamie asked, frowning slightly. Droplets of water strolling down his cheeks.

“Am I broken down? Not really, I was just enjoying the view, actually. I thought stopping in the middle of the road would be the safest option for it,” she grinned, watching him.

“Ouch, then I’ll go back by myself and leave ye to yer Highland wanderings—”

“Okay fine, I am!” Her grin didn’t move, only increasing at his annoyed expression.

“Hurry or I’ll leave wi’out ye,” the redhead exclaimed, walking back to his own car.

Quickly, Claire closed the window, grabbed her bags, and got out. She hurried towards his vehicle and got in. W _hy wasn’t she surprised he drove a relic?_

“Nice car…Bit old, no?” she remarked, looking at him.

“At least it works.” He started the engine, the amusement rooted in his tone.  

‘Touché,” she smirked.

“I’m really glad to see you —”

“Ye’re gonna need another car,” he mumbled, starting to drive. “If I’m gettin’ sick because of ye, I’m sendin’ ye my bill. Do ye ken how long I’ve been tapping at yer window before ye opened?”

“Not really, I was half asleep and the other half was deafened by AC/DC playing in the car, in case you didn’t notice.” She leaned back, handing him a tissue.

“Aye, I noticed.” Jamie grabbed the tissue without taking his eyes off the road and wiped his face quickly.

Claire watched him for a second, still amused. At that moment, she promised herself to make that Scottish grump laugh before leaving Scotland.  _Or at least smile._  That would already be something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments and sent me messages asking for more when I posted this story a few weeks ago! I’ve got quite a bit written ahead so from next week I might start uploading Tuesdays & Thursdays if you want me to, just let me know! Enjoy <3


	3. Inner Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addiction is a sensitive subject and quite scary to tackle, it’s far deeper than simply consuming drugs so I do truly hope I make it justice. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Song mentioned is "All I Want" by Joni Mitchell.

That morning, Claire didn’t get woken up by the usual crowing from Gary, but instead by an ache in her belly tearing her insides apart. She was exhausted and couldn’t move — didn’t want to move from the bed. All she wanted to do was sleep. When she denied her bodily need of drugs, withdrawals were a natural aftermath. They always overtook her. And since she had been taking cocaine more often than usual these past few weeks, this one hit her hard. **  
**

_Exhaustion. Anxiety. Aching. Erratic sleep._  They didn’t compose all of the symptoms of withdrawal, but those were the ones Claire was experiencing the most right now. Something was trying to crawl out of her skin, and she had to wait it out.

She had been in Scotland for four days, and apart from the first day when she went to the village, she spent the remaining time confined in the cottage, cleansing herself from the addiction that had taken residence in her bloodstream.

Reluctantly, Claire sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Another wave of aches hit her belly and she clutched it, shutting her eyes. Waiting for the pain to leave again.  _Silently counting the seconds._  One moment she was cold, shivering. The next, a wave of warmth travelled up her body, making her push away the plaid she had pulled around her only moments ago. Yet, she was still shivering like she had a fever.

She finally arose after minutes that seemed to last an eternity. From her bed to the sofa downstairs, it took her longer than usual. Walking slowly –  _carefully_  – not to fall down the stairs, her head slightly spinning. She had no idea what time it was. But it was early, she was certain. The light had started to come in, casting a warm glow all over the house. It was a beautiful sight, she thought, before clutching her stomach again as it took on another wave of pain.

Withdrawals were the hardest part of being an addict. It was easy to cave in and take the drugs again to make the feeling go away. It was another thing to fight against it and let the body spit out the drugs by itself, along with the cravings for them.

Every time she had started to feel this way, she would dab the white power onto the back of her hand and snort a bit to feel better.  _It always worked._  It was a dependency, but Claire always thought she was stronger than her addiction. At least when she started.

Each time was meant to be the last time. At first, it was for energy — a little boost before a show. A little boost to have to deal with Frank.  _Nothing more._  She told herself she could stop whenever she’d want to and she wouldn’t feel anything.  _She had been wrong._  She played with fire and got burned.

It was different, this time. Not only was she truly determined to stop, but there was also no cocaine in the house. No way to get it around, either. This time, she would have to get through this or die trying because she didn’t want to touch this shit again. Eventually, she knew she’d start getting better. She knew she could do it.

Dropping the plaid on the sofa, she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, eyes glued to her glass in concentration. Still shaking slightly, she looked like a four-year-old trying to accomplish this simple task and almost laughed at herself.

She wondered what her parents would think of her if they saw her like this. She wondered how different her life would be if they hadn’t died on that rainy November night. Claire didn’t often think of these things, she found it to be a waste of time — but this morning, she couldn’t help it.

Claire even thought about what her grumpy neighbour would think of her if he saw her like this. Not that he was easily impressionable. He would most likely find her pathetic — a little rich girl taking drugs to support her  _oh-so-difficult_ life. She found herself pathetic enough already, she didn’t need his patronising. Thinking about it, he probably wouldn’t even care. He didn’t seem to care about anything, anyway.

After picking her up the other day, he hadn’t said one word to her in the car. And since then, she hadn’t seen him around. Or heard from him. As for the Jeep, the tow truck came to take it and Claire had only a bike to use to travel around town.

Shivering, Claire made her way to the living room with her glass of water. She studied the few vinyls on the shelf and decided that Joni Mitchell’s  _Blue_  would be the soundtrack of her morning. It was one of her favourite albums. She wondered if the Scot shared a similar sentiment and if he had been the one doing the decorating.

Once the music started softly, she walked to the sofa and sat down. She was thirsty and drank her glass of water at once before putting it on the table. She was also hungry.  _Famished_. But she knew if she ate something, she would throw it right back up. She leaned back, closing her eyes, and started to take breath after deep, long breath. Calming herself the only way she knew how.

Her phone rang sometime later, rudely taking her out of the slight slumber she found herself in after falling asleep. She answered hoarsely, laying on her side and pulling the plaid over her shivering body. “Yeah?”

“Morning, babe.” Simon’s voice was soft and she could hear the smile in it.

“Simon, hey,” she said softly, trying to sound more sleepy than sick. She had no idea how long she had dozed off on the sofa.

“Did I wake you?” the American asked, his tone slightly worried.

“Yeah but it’s fine, I woke up too early and then napped downstairs.” Claire moved again, biting her lower lip at the ache in her belly. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Claire could hear him smiling through the phone. “Just calling to see how you were doing up there?”

“I’m doing great, really great,” she lied, closing her eyes. “It’s beautiful, and people in the village are very friendly and all. It’s peaceful here.”

“That’s good to hear, babe.”

“Tell me you’re only calling me to ask how I’m doing and not because Frank started some shit while I’m away?”

“Well, kind of…though Frank’s lawyer called Ned after he sent him the papers for the rupture of the contract. Nothing too bad, you know him—”

“Yeah, I do, that’s why I’m worried.” She rolled her eyes. “What does he want?”

“He’s suing the tabloids for those pictures of him with his mistress so he needs more money, I guess. He wants the royalties of your songs and to claim the copyrights of your stage name, plus everything associated with it—”

“Of course he does,” she mumbled, remembering it was his idea to use her middle name as a stage name. “I hope Ned told him to go fuck himself?”

“Basically, yeah,” Simon chuckled.

“That’s why you shouldn’t worry, all right? You write all your songs and melodies, he has no claim to that. As for your name, it was given to you at birth by your parents, he didn’t come up with it. Yes, it’s a brand, but it’s your brand, not his. You knew he was going to try and milk it as long as he could. We won’t let him, I promise.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come back to deal with this myself— ”

“No.” He stopped her mid-sentence before she could continue. 

“Claire, you’re exhausted, and you need peace and quiet. You don’t need to deal with this asshole — you’ve been doing it for almost ten years. Your well-being comes before this, to me. It truly does.”

“You’re the best,” she said softly, wiping a tear on her cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Can you not say that again, please?” Simon sighed. “I know you believe you don’t deserve anybody, darling, but I’d like you to take this belief out of your pretty little curly head because it’s not true. And whatever Frank Randall tried to make you believe, it wasn’t the truth.”

Claire nodded, even if he couldn’t see her. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I haven’t been sleeping very well since I got here and I’m an emotional mess.”

“Do you want me to come up there? You know I would, it’s not far, and if you need me, I can have Ned deal with things over here by himself.”

Claire knew she’d be better if Simon was here. He was her closest friend, but she couldn’t show herself like this, even to him. She refused to let anyone see what Frank’s behaviour over the years had reduced her to. Though she couldn’t completely blame it all on her ex, his constant tactic of putting her down had slowly broken her thick skin, leaving her vulnerable like a wounded bird. She had grown terrified of being abandoned by him. So much so, she let him do whatever he wanted and never batted an eyelash towards his awful behaviour. One she’d never tolerate, anyway.

She wouldn’t give Frank Randall the satisfaction of seeing her fade away. Not again.

“I’m fine, really. I’m just coming down with the flu, but I’ll be better in a couple of days, I’m sure. But thank you for asking, truly.” She smiled softly, holding the plaid tightly against her.

“Alright, then call me whenever you need me? Even if it’s only to talk about the latest episode of Drag Race.”

She chuckled softly, “I don’t have a tv in the cottage. I’ll have to catch up once I’m back, I’m afraid. Don’t spoil me!”

“Fine, I won’t,” he grinned, “So tell me…I’ve been meaning to ask since you arrived—”

She frowned, turning on her other side. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s not much a matter, but over the phone his voice sounded quite sexy, so I wanted to know if his physique matched it—”

“His physique?” She was confused for a second before realising who he was talking about. “Oh! The landlord.”

“Yes!” Simon exclaimed happily. “I see him tall, blonde with deep brown eye—”

“He’s tall,” she confirmed. “Very tall, actually. But he has red hair and blue eyes.”

“Ugh, even better! So I was right, then. He is very handsome.” The American let out a sigh of contentment.

“I couldn’t see on the airbnb website because his profile picture was from afar.”

“He is as handsome as he is grumpy,” she admitted, not being able to prevent a smile at the remark. “And for scale, he’s the grumpiest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Grumpy is the new sexy! Frank was always in a great mood and he turned out to be an actual asshole so…”

“Yeah, you have a point, I guess.” She stared at the ceiling, catching herself wondering if the Scot was single or not.  _Probably not._

“Did he know who you are?”

“I don’t know. If he did, he did a pretty good job at hiding it and I’m very grateful for that,” she smiled absently, thinking of the feeling she had experienced after they met for the first time. How he looked at her like he actually saw her — not like she was some sort of mystical being, destitute of any emotions.

“I don’t think people around here are bothered by some sort of wannabe rockstar, you know,” she added, closing her eyes.

“I wonder when you’ll start to realise you’re actually an actual rockstar and not a wannabe, darling?” he smirked. “Because I’m in your office right now, and the shelves of awards and gold disks contradict your theory.”

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a doctor,” Claire said softly. “But then I realised I was too lazy to attend medical school for so many years and study so much.”

Actually, Claire abandoned the idea soon after her parents’ accident. She knew being a doctor wouldn’t make her able to bring back the two people she had loved the most.

“I’m glad you started to sing, Claire. Your voice is a gift from God, and you of all people know that my Catholicism is nominal, at best. I’m not saying this lightly. I’m happy you’re sharing it with the world. Your music speaks to people, that’s why they love you so much.”

“Do you really think so?”

“When will you start believing it? You fill the biggest stages around the world. Your albums sell out as soon as they come out. Millions of people love you. Don’t doubt it because one man couldn’t love you properly and tried to make you believe it was all your fault.”

“Simon…” Claire took a breath bracing herself for an answer. “Do you think I’m weak?”

“Weak?” he sounded like he almost wanted to laugh at her question.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, babe. Being strong doesn’t mean dealing with life perfectly. It means you’ll have times where you won’t even want to get up in the morning and yet, you do it. You get up and you fight because that’s what you are, darling. A fighter. And a fucking great one, at that. Being a little bit messy doesn’t mean you’re weak. Far from it. You’re at a crossroad right now. You’re figuring out what to do and which way to go. It takes time and it doesn’t make you a terrible person. You just need a little bit of time.”

“Some time, yes.” She let her tears stream down silently.

“You feel things a little bit deeper than most people. That’s why you’re so talented at what you do. Whatever you experience, might it be trauma or happiness, you put it into songs and it resonates with people, it helps them. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered, her voice breaking slightly. “I promise you, I won’t.”

“Good. Now go rest, my darling. I’ll call you again either later tonight or tomorrow, alright? And if you need me, you know where to find me.”

“All right, darling.” Claire removed the plaid away from her and sat up slowly. “Thank you for calling.”

“Love you, babe.”

“You too,” she added before hanging up and putting her phone away.

After a while, Claire got up and refilled her water, leaning against the counter to drink. She was still shivering, but she felt slightly better than she did when she woke up this morning. Slightly.

She realised the music had stopped and went to start the album over. Letting the voice of Joni Mitchell rock her slowly. The lyrics echoing in her heart.

_I am on a lonely road and_  
I am traveling, traveling, traveling, traveling  
Looking for something, what can it be  
I wanna be strong I wanna laugh along  
I wanna belong to the living  
I am on a lonely road and I am traveling  
Looking for the key to set me free

Just for a minute, Claire enjoyed the music. Nothing else around her mattered. It felt as if she was truly alone in the world — until a knock at the door burst her little bubble of peace.

She didn’t want to answer. Instead, she grabbed the plaid and started to walk back upstairs.

“Sassenach, I ken ye’re in there. I can hear the music!” Jamie’s voice came behind the door, making her stop in her tracks.

“Shit,” she mumbled, frozen for a second. She didn’t know if she should run back upstairs and hide or actually open the door and let him see her looking like this.

“I’m no’ leavin’ until ye open in case ye were wonderin’,” the Scot knocked again, and she caved in. Walking the few stairs down towards the door, she opened it slowly.

“Hi,” Claire said softly, plaid wrapped around her.

“Are ye alright?” His usual grumpy expression shifted to one of worry.

“I’m coming down with something, I think it must be some food poisoning or so,” she quickly replied, clearing her throat.

“That’s what happens when I try to cook for myself,” she added, smiling softly.

“I’m sorry to come and bother ye, I just wanted to drop by the eggs and the milk…’tis Wednesday.” He held up a brown bag before handing it to her.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. I forgot about it, but thank you,” she nodded, taking it.

“Dinna need to thank me, ‘tis part of the rent—”

“While you’re here, I wanted to ask you to take a look at the sink when you have a minute. There’s something wrong with it.”

“The one in the kitchen?” he watched her, and she nodded. “I can do it now, if ye want? I have some free time and I dinna want to have to come back another time.”

“Uh, sure. Come in.” Claire moved aside to let him in. She was glad the place didn’t look like a mess, at least.

Closing the door, she watched Jamie walk towards the kitchen without a word, taking a quick glance at the record player but not commenting on the music. She followed him and put the bag onto the table.

“What’s the problem wi’ it?” the Scot asked, turning around to look at her.

“It doesn’t drain the water very well,” she remarked, trying not to look like she wanted to faint on the spot from her weak disposition.

“I guess the drain is clogged again,” he said nonchalantly before opening a cupboard. 

“Nothin’ some vinegar and baking soda canna solve, I’m sure.”

“I trust you on this, I’m not very domestic,” Claire smiled softly, watching him at the task. “Thank you for taking the time, though.”

“‘Tis the least I can do for ye, Sassenach,” he answered, briefly turning his head to look at her before turning back to the sink.

While Jamie was busy with his miraculous concoction for the sink, Claire unpacked the bag and took out the bottle of milk and the eggs. Frowning, she took out a knitted hat.

“You forgot your hat in here.”

The redhead dried his hands on a towel and looked at her. “Och no, that one is for ye. I ken ye must have ruined yers wi’ the rain the other day so I thought ye’d do wi’ a new one.”

Claire blinked, surprised at his sudden attention, and leaned against the counter, ignoring her spinning head. “Thank you, Jamie,” she said sincerely and managed a smile.

“It’s very kind of you…”

“‘Tis nothin’ really, it doesna cost much either but some time—” he watched her, his eyes growing worried and hers becoming blurry. “Sassenach?”

“Yeah?” She clutched the hat in her hand, feeling herself lose her balance.  _Her vision blurring. The room spinning. Ears ringing. A shiver running up her spine._

“Claire!”

That was the last thing she heard before everything around her turned pitch black and she collapsed on the wooden floor. 


	4. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note to say this story should be updated twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday, until its conclusion!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and let me know how you liked the chapter <3

When Claire woke up, she was disoriented and sweaty.  _Very sweaty._ Her head had stopped spinning but the feeling of nausea remained. Opening her big whisky eyes, she frowned at the face glancing down at her. It was a redhead, alright, but not the one she was expecting.

“Welcome back,” the woman said in a thick Scottish accent. 

She seemed to be around Claire’s age. Maybe a bit older, but it was hard to tell. She had long red locks pulled up in a messy bun and piercing green eyes. Apart from the hair colour, she didn’t look anything like Jamie —  and for a brief second, Claire wondered if she was his girlfriend. She found the idea of Jamie having a girlfriend quite bothersome to her, actually.

Blinking several times, it took a few seconds for Claire to realize that she was back in the room and in the comfort of her bed.

“Wot?” she said softly, rubbing her eyes.

“Ye fainted,” the Scot smiled, her whole face illuminating. “Are ye feelin’ alright, now?”

“Alright wouldn't be the right term, but I don’t think I’ve broken any bones in the process so that’s something,” Claire smiled softly in return. 

“I’m feeling better, yeah.”

“That’s good.” The stranger watched her closely and smiled warmly, something that made Claire relax slightly.

“I’m Geillis Duncan,” she finally introduced herself. “I’m a friend of Jamie’s and also a doctor. He called me when ye fainted on him, I was back at Lallybroch.”

“Oh,” the English woman nodded, sitting up very slowly. “I’m Claire...Where is Jamie?”

“He ran to the house to get somethin’, he’ll be back in a minute I’m sure.” Geillis sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a glass of water. “Are ye sure you’re feeling better?”

Nodding, she took the glass of water and gave it a long sip. She was so thirsty.

“Yes, really I am. I just feel a bit nauseous, but that will go away soon enough, I’m sure.”

“I can give ye something for that, if you’d like?” Geillis proposed, still watching her inquisitively. “But I’ll have to ask ye a few questions beforehand—”

“No I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you are wondering—”

“That’s not what I was thinkin’, nay,” the redhead admitted, her eyebrows raising. 

“Do ye consume drugs, perhaps?”

The question surprised her and yet, not at all. Claire didn’t confirm it immediately, though she knew her glass face had given her away before she could even form a proper answer. She took another sip of water, her eyes dropping to the plaid covering her legs.

“I won’t say anythin’ to anyone, not even to Jamie. Ye can trust me.” Geillis touched her arm, smiling.

“But if I can help ye, I need to know exactly what’s going on, Claire. Now, I don’t want to assume anythin’ but from what I can see and what Jamie told me when I arrived, ye show most of the signs of withdrawal—”

“Could I have some more water, please?” Claire interrupted softly, her eyes still avoiding her new acquaintance’s.

“Of course.”  Geillis took the glass from her and quickly disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Claire alone with her thoughts for a minute or two.  

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the headboard and took a long breath. She didn’t know why she thought she could have gone through this by herself. She didn’t even dare to think about what would have happened if Jamie hadn’t been here when she had fainted. Someone was proposing help — she might as well accept it while she could.

“Here ye go.” Geillis’s voice made her open her eyes again, and Claire took the glass she was presenting her.

“Thanks.” After a long sip, her eyes finally found the Scot’s. “You’re right, I’m in withdrawal.”

“Is it the first time?”

Claire nodded and was about to explain further when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She cast a glance at Geillis who gave her a reassuring smile indicating that Claire need not worry, she wouldn’t say a word.

Jamie knocked softly on the door, watching the two women before walking into the room, holding a tray. “Sassenach, I hope ye like broth?”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I do, thank you.”

Geillis got up, looking at Claire. “I’ll go and get you some medicine for you while you have some broth, aye? It willna take me too long.”

“Yes, thank you, Geillis.”

The redhead winked and gave her and Jamie another look before leaving the room.

“How are ye feelin’?” Jamie asked, putting the tray in front of her.

“Better.” She watched him, the smell of the broth soothing her need to throw up a bit. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Aye ye did, Sassenach, but Geillis is a verra great doctor. She’s gonna take good care of ye,” Jamie explained, clumsily sitting on the edge of the bed.  

“I’m sure she will—“

“There is nothin’ a wee broth can cure.” He looked at her, his eyes softer since the last time she had looked into them.

Jamie took a spoonful of broth and carefully brought it up to her mouth.

“Open up, Sassenach.”

She couldn’t help but grin at that big grumpy Scot proposing to feed her and opened her mouth without a word, accepting the broth.

“Is it good?” he asked, seemingly worried all of a sudden.

She nodded, letting the warm liquid burn her throat in the most comforting way. “Very good. I haven’t had homemade broth in a very long time — actually, I don’t think I ever had it.”

“No?” he frowned, a surprised expression forming on his usually expressionless face.

“No.” She took the spoon from him, her fingers grazing against his for the very first time. She silently started to eat and ignored his inquisitorial look.

“‘Tis my mam’s recipe. She always made it for me and my brother when we were sick, or pretendin’ to be so we wouldna have to go to school,” his lip flicked up at the memory.

Claire smiled at that, her heart squeezing at the thought of this man as a little boy. “You have a brother?“

“Aye,” he whispered softly. So softly, Claire didn’t think she heard it right. Jamie’s slight smile faded immediately and he cleared his throat.

“I’ll let ye rest some more in peace, aye? Geillis will be back shortly and ye have my number in case ye need anythin’.” He got up, avoiding her eyes.

“Jamie.” She grabbed his hand, ignoring the burning sensation at the contact of his skin.

The tall Scot stopped in his tracks, first looking down at their hands and then slowly at her without saying a word.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, their hands still linked, and gave him a sincere smile.  

Eyes locked, Jamie brought her hand up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. A trail of goosebumps erupted up her arms and Claire wasn’t too sure it was caused by her condition. Without another word, he left the room.

**********

Cold showers were not the most relaxing things. They weren’t even the most pleasant things, but it was the only thing making Claire feel slightly better and anew after such an eventful morning. And apparently, they were great methods for shiny hair. Her symptoms were still there but slightly improving. Her head was not spinning. Her bellyache had lessened. Her anxiety had calmed down. She knew she wasn’t done, but she was also aware that the more time that would pass, the better she’d start to be. _To feel._

Carefully, she stepped out of the shower and dried her hair and body before getting dressed in an old pair of Levi’s and a white t-shirt. She wrapped a clean towel around her damp mass of curls and went back to the room.

Geillis sat on the chair in the corner, head hidden in a book, and the sight made Claire jump up slightly, “Oh— ”

Looking up, the Scot grinned, “Did I scare ye? I thought ye knew I was here.”

“Well I knew you were here, somewhere,” Claire smiled, “I didn’t know you’d be waiting by the door like a guard dog.”

“I am yer new guard dog, in case ye dinna notice.” She put her book away. 

“I’m just qualified as a doctor too. And most importantly, I didn’t want ye to faint and die in the shower so I made sure I could hear ye. I ken we met three hours ago, but ye’ll get used to me pretty quickly.”

“You are very kind, but you really don’t have to stay around if you have other things to do.” Claire dried her hair, looking at her.

“I ken and I willna annoy you all the time, I just want to make sure ye’re alright and Jamie made me promise I would so—”

“He did?” Raising her eyebrows, Claire shot Geillis a look.

“Aye, ‘tis surprising I know but he did ask me — dinna tell him I told ye though,” she grinned, getting up.

“I’m going on the porch to smoke, care to join me?” The Englishwoman grabbed her pack of cigarettes.

“‘Course,” Geillis smiled, and they both walked downstairs and out onto the porch.

Claire sat in one of the rocking chairs, crossing her legs like a child and putting a cigarette in her mouth before presenting the pack to the redhead.

“Nay, I dinna smoke,” she declined, sitting down next to her.

“You don’t mind that I do?” Claire asked before igniting her match on the box.

“No, I ken it helps ye not think about the drugs.” She touched her arm in a friendly gesture and smiled. The thing about Geillis that struck Claire the most was how kind her eyes were. And how she felt as if they had been friends forever.

“You must think me a mess,” Claire shrugged but smiled, leaning back into the chair.  

“Nobody’s perfect,” Geillis grinned. “At least ye’re aware of that fact.”

“More than aware, yeah.” Her smile grew broader and she took a long hit of her cigarette.

The grumpy Scot intrigued her and she knew she might not have a chance to get direct information from him. Since Geillis was here and a conversation was needed, Claire took the initiative and asked: “How long have you known Jamie?”

“Och, a long time. Verra long—”

“Which is?” Claire opened one eye to look at her.

“Since we both were wee bairns,” Geillis smiled. “Our mothers were best friends and we grew up together, went to school together and all that—”

“Oh, I see,” she nodded, fidgeting with the cigarette in her hand. 

“Did you two…?” The question escaped her before she had realised it and she was immediately mortified she had asked it.

“ _Date_?” Geillis chuckled, looking at her. “Nay, Jamie is more like a brother to me and he always will be, dinna worry yer pretty little head about it.”

“I’m not worried, I wasn’t asking because of that.” She took another hit of the cigarette to prevent herself from saying another stupid thing. Jamie was a very handsome man and she had to admit that it was hard not to be attracted to him, but it didn’t go beyond that. At least, she tried to convince herself it didn’t.

“I dated his brother, though,” the redhead said softly, her smile dropping.

“William.”

“Did he break your heart?” she looked at the Scot, seeing her green eyes watering. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, you don’t have to actually answer that.”

“William had the biggest heart,” Geillis cleared her throat, a smile reforming at the mention. “But he also was a bad boy. He broke my heart, but I ken he didn’t do it on purpose.”

Claire frowned at that, not understanding what the Scot was saying. It took a minute, but Geillis finally started to talk.

“Willie was always a bit rebellious, being the big brother and showing off in front of Jamie and me. But after their mother died, he just spiralled. He had demons — we all do, I guess. But his were deeply rooted, and as much as we tried to help him, he didn’t make it in the end,” she explained softly, wiping a tear off her cheek.

“He accidentally overdosed three years ago and no one was home when it happened,” she finally said, voice low and full of guilt.

Claire felt like someone had just punched her in the guts. At that moment, she also realised Jamie must have known exactly what was happening to her when he came by earlier.  _Or suspect it, at the very least_. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Geillis,” she said sincerely, taking her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “And I’m so sorry you have to deal with me now. God, I’m mortified actually.”

“Oh no, Claire,” Geillis took her hand in turn, her smile coming back. “Please, dinna think that.”

“When Willie died, I swore that if I would ever meet or know someone struggling with drugs again, I’d do anything I could to help. I might not know ye very well, but I know addiction isn’t something you chose freely for yourself. I also know that, no matter how much determination you have to get rid of it, having someone even just to talk to makes a difference.”

Claire looked at her, letting tears stroll down her face without a word.

“I also believe yer profession isna helpin’ either, is it?”

Claire realised the Scot knew who she was, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t feel intrusive at all. It actually felt liberating that someone knew who she was and didn’t judge her one bit. She was kind of a cliché, she knew it. Yet, her new friend didn’t care, she just wanted to help her get better.

“No, actually, it did help at first. Then I realised it wouldn’t be enough to keep me away from my own demons. It made me feel invincible to be on stage and off too, for a while.”

“You thought you were—”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” She finished her cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray, eyes fixed on the Highlands view in front of her. “Then, I realised it was all an act.”

“Ye’ve taken a step forward, Claire, and ‘tis verra good. Ye left behind what ate away at ye and now ye’re here, alone wi’ yer thoughts, wonderin’ what to do next. It’s verra brave. Just give yerself some time to get better. And the Highlands are a magical place, trust me.”

“Everyone I meet keeps saying this.” Claire’s lip flicked up at the thought of this magical place she found herself in. At first, she brushed it off as weird local talk, but the longer she stayed here, the more she realised it was true -- and she had only been here for a couple of days.

“Cause ‘tis the truth,” Geillis winked, squeezing her hand before handing her the plaid, seeing she was cold.

“Thanks,” Claire took it and wrapped it around her, leaning back.

“Can I ask ye somethin’? I’m sorry if it is verra bold but—”

“Just say whatever you want, Geillis,” she smiled a bit, amused, and closed her eyes.

“If I bring one tomorrow, will ye sign one of yer albums for me?”

“Sure,” she chuckled, “do you have many of them?”

“I’ve got them all, really,” the redhead admitted. “I’m a bit of a fangirl is all.”

“You’re the first person to recognize me since I got here.”

“Weel, ye look quite different than when ye’re on stage, I must admit. Wi’ yer round glasses and all.”

“I’m too shy to sing in front of people. I’m frightened, actually,” Claire admitted, opening her eyes again. “That’s why I have Elizabeth. Otherwise, I would have never got my ass on a stage. You must think I sound completely crazy— ”

“I dinna think ye are,” the other woman winked. “It makes sense. A lot of people have spotlight personas to deal with their fame. Maybe ye lost yerself in there a wee bit?”

“I guess I have,” Claire turned her head slightly and caught her reflection in the window. One she had not looked at — _really looked at_  — in a long time.

**********

The next couple of days provided much improvement. Claire’s cravings were significantly weakened and her bellyache had disappeared slowly. Even if her nights were mostly restless, she spent them writing songs at the piano. During the days, she took the opportunity to rest as much as she needed.

She had become fast friends with Geillis. The doctor came every day to hang out with Claire for a while. They would go take walks or visit the village. Sometimes, they would simply sit down with cups of tea and talk. About anything and everything. It was a breath of fresh air to have someone to talk to —someone who never once judged her for what she was going through.   
  
The Englishwoman tried not to ask too many questions about her neighbour to Geillis, but the task proved to be harder than she had thought. It was simply because she wanted to know everything about this loner. This man who seemed to barely leave his home. But every time a question came to her, she changed the subject.

One afternoon after the redhead left, Claire decided to go up to Lallybroch to thank Jamie for what he did when she wasn’t feeling great and just to see him again — though she didn’t admit that latter detail to herself. She had not seen him since he had brought her soup, and Geillis had been the one bringing her the milk and the eggs on Wednesdays.

Putting on the knitted hat he had given her that day, she walked towards the main estate, looking around. From where she stood, it felt like living in an old painting frozen in time. Something out of the 18th century. Old grey-coloured bricks with hints of rust. A north-facing tower on one side, and a path of flowers going up the front door.

She quickly noted that most of them were  _forget-me-nots_  and smiled at the sight. Those were her favourite flowers. She always kept some in books and made a mental note to grab a few on her way out.

Claire stood at the big wooden front door and knocked, as there was no bell to ring. She knocked softly a first time and waited. When no one came to open the door, she knocked a second time. A bit more insistent, this time.

_No one came, either._

She quickly realised that the house was so big, Jamie most likely wouldn’t have heard her if he was nowhere near the front hall. She decided to go see from the back door if anyone was actually home before she headed back to the cottage.

At the back, she knocked on the door but no answer arrived. She even tried to open it to see if it was unlocked.

_It wasn’t._

Claire quickly looked through one of the windows into the house, feeling like a slight voyeur, and realised it was empty. She would come back another time. Maybe he was at work, after all, she didn’t know what he did with his time all day.

As Claire turned around and made her way to the cottage through another path, she heard a voice. It was soft and Scottish. It was Jamie’s. She could hear him, but she couldn’t see him yet, so she decided to follow the sound until a mop of red hair came into view.

Jamie stood, his back to her, speaking words of Gaelic in his solitude.

She stopped in her tracks and watched him, realising he was actually standing in front of two graves, most likely praying.

Claire definitely felt like a voyeur now. She wasn’t supposed to be here, watching this man in such an intimate moment. Slowly —  _very slowly so he wouldn’t hear her_ — she turned around and was about to leave when his voice made her freeze.

“Sassenach.”

Closing her eyes for a brief second, she bit her lower lip and cursed herself silently. She hated herself for interrupting his peace.

“Come over here,” Jamie said softly, and she could feel his eyes on her.

Claire turned around again, her eyes locking with his. She saw him hold out his hand to her — and without a word, she made her way towards him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I came over at the house to talk to you but you weren’t there and on my way back, I heard you, so I came up to see —I shouldn’t have,” she explained apologetically.

“Dinna fash,” he reassured her, looking at her like no one ever had before.

Claire stood next to him, reluctantly breaking eye contact to look down at the graves and the names written on them, her heart squeezing at the sight.

_Ellen Caitriona MacKenzie      -- 1968 - 2014  
William Simon Mackenzie Fraser --  1994 - 2016_

She looked at Jamie again, understanding who was laid to rest here. His eyes were fixed on the names of his mother and brother. Her head was full of questions, but she didn’t ask any. Instead, she let silence wrap around them both at the top of the little hill behind the garden.  _A comfortable silence shared by old friends. By two people who were no longer mere strangers to one another._

Without a word, the Scot took Claire’s hand and held it tightly, and she let him. She let the warmth of him radiate against her skin. _Their fingers entwined._  She didn’t know what it was, but at that moment, she knew something between them had changed.


	5. Backstitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading/liking/commenting on this story every week! 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think <3

Claire didn’t know how long they stayed at the little cemetery, hands linked together. Time seemed to have stop.  _Frozen_. On top of a hill that seemed to belong to faeries in another time. The wind blowing the leaves and grass around them. The sky was the most peculiar shade of off-white and thunder rumbled far away. Neither one of them said a word. Not until droplets of water landed on their faces. **  
**

Jamie did his sign of the cross one more time before turning his head slightly to look at her. 

“Will ye join me for some tea, Sassenach?” he asked, sea blue eyes glued on her.

Nodding, she smiled, still feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. “Tea sounds good.”

“Let’s go then, a storm is comin’,” he stated nonchalantly and led her back towards the main house, not letting go of her hand for even a second.

As Claire followed him, her eyes didn’t leave his body. For the very first time, she looked at him. _Really looked._  And her stomach dropped slightly at the realisation of how handsome he was. Jamie was far from behind her type. Usually, she liked them a lot less muscular and far more dark-haired. The kind of guys she would meet in Camden when she first moved to London — though Frank looked more like a history professor than Alex Turner. But it was also the first time she met a red-haired giant who was built like an 18th-century warrior.

Quickly, she realised she was staring, and her eyes drifted away from him, looking around instead. “This is such a beautiful estate.”

“Aye ‘tis,” Jamie turned to look at her and smiled. Flashing an actual smile for the first time since they had met.

“Did you smile at me?” she teased, her own forming on her lips. “Or was it just a suppressed sneeze?”

“Probably a sneeze, Sassenach,” he smirked in response, opening the door and letting her walk in first.

“Thought so,” she grinned at him before walking through the door and directly into the kitchen.

Looking around, a sense of home hit her — something she had never experienced anywhere before. Not even at her own house in London. It always felt off, even there. Like something was missing. But here, in the heart of the house —  _the kitchen_ — where logs were burning in the fireplace and the smell of freshly grounded coffee hung heavily in the air, she realised what the entire concept was after all. A sense of peace.  _Of calmness._  Similar to the feeling of a hug.  

Neither one of them mentioned what just happened at the cemetery. It wasn’t necessary and Claire didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by bringing it up. After all, she was the one who had interrupted his prayer there. Yet, she didn’t regret it.

What they shared up on that hill, in silence, was the most intimate thing she had ever shared with anyone until this day. She thought about her parents and the repressed pain she still felt at their loss. A pain she often buried deep down — one that was slowly coming to the surface after all these years, she realised. She had never spoken about it to anyone. Not even to Frank in too much details. 

“Is tea alright or do ye prefer somethin’ else, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, removing his scarf and coat.

“Tea is fine,” she smiled, standing awkwardly to the side. Something Jamie immediately noticed.

“Ye can sit, if ye’d like.” The Scot looked at her amusedly, putting the kettle on.

Sitting down, Claire watched his every move attentively.  _Pouring the water into the kettle. Opening the cupboard to take out the mugs and the tea. Putting the tea leaves in the teapot._ He should have been rough and clumsy, but he wasn’t. He was actually very graceful for such a tall man.

She removed her knitted hat and quickly fixed what she could of her mess of curls while he had his back turned to her. Since he had given it to her, she had worn the hat on and off, even inside the cottage.  _It was that cosy._

“Thank you for the other day.” Claire broke the silence and noticed Jamie stiffened as he poured the tea. 

“For introducing me to Geillis and bringing me broth—”

“‘Twas nothin’, I’m glad ye’re feelin’ better.”

He brought the mugs on the table and sat down in front of her. “And I knew ye and Geillis would go along just fine.”

“She’s great,” Claire confirmed, taking one of the mugs and warming her hands on it. “As great as the broth you brought me.”

Jamie looked at her and smiled again, the sight making her giddy like a child. “I can make ye broth again if that’s all it takes to make ye happy, Sassenach. Or I can also give ye the recipe if ye promise no’ to pass it around. ‘Tis a secret kept in the family for many generations.”

“I’m not much of a cook, I think you should keep the recipe and make it for me, instead,” she grinned, taking a sip of her tea.

“Ye’re just sayin’ that so I have to make it for ye, aren’t ye?” His eyebrow raised up in question.

“No, I swear, I’m rubbish! The only thing I could make for you is pasta, which isn’t the most difficult thing to cook, if we’re honest—”

“Maybe no’ but ‘tis verra tasty. Dinna insult pasta under my roof.” He took a biscuit and dipped it quickly into his tea before eating it.

“Do you take pasta very seriously?” Claire asked, amused.

“Don’t ye?” He smirked, then. His reactions to her questions had vastly improved since they had first met.

Claire laughed at that and shook her head, “I never thought about this before, if I’m honest with you. But let’s have a deal, I’ll make you pasta if you make me broth again?”

“We have a deal.” Jamie presented her a cookie, one she tore half off, leaving him the other half.

Jamie made a low Scottish noise of satisfaction deep in his throat and ate the other half of the cookie, his blue eyes locking with her whisky ones. Something was going on between them. An electric stream passing through — invisible, yet tangible. Claire had never experienced something like this before, and she wondered if he felt it too. Though, she brushed that thought off her mind rather quickly.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked, sipping her tea again, the liquid going down her throat like a warm embrace.

The Scot nodded, a shadow passing through his eyes. It had been quick, but Claire saw it. “Aye, ‘tis just me since my mam and brother passed. I ken ‘tis a verra big house and I should maybe sell it sometime, but I canna bring myself to do it or to leave.”

“I understand that.” She touched his hand in a gesture of compassion. She had to leave her childhood home at the age of five, so she knew how difficult of a thing it was.

“‘Tis been in my family for generations and I grew up here,” he recalled fondly, smiling softly. “It holds lots of memories.”

“I don’t think you should move out unless you feel like it,” she smiled warmly in return. “This is your home, after all.”

“Aye, ye’re right, Sassenach.” He gave her hand a light squeeze.

“And it’s a piece of history if it’s been in your family for so long,” she added, watching him.

“Since the eighteenth century,” he started.   
  
“When Jacob Mackenzie built it for his wife, Anne, and their bairns. ‘Tis was then passed down to his children and grandchildren. And on and on until my grandfather passed it down to my mother. Along wi’ the knitting factory—”

“The knitting factory?” Claire looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“We’re knitters in the family, Sassenach. Who do ye think made ye that wee hat?”

“ _You_  made it?” She couldn’t hide her surprised delight at the fact and she knew he saw it cause he smiled again.

“I did,” he confessed, finishing his tea. “I’ve been knittin’ since I could hold needles and I thought ye’d like a hat to keep ye warm. But actually, we have a factory in the converted barns, where we do most of the pieces. By we, I mean me and my wee team. Do ye wanna visit?”

“Of course!” She finished her drink and got up. “Now, right?”

Jamie rose to put the empty mugs into the sink. “Aye, now if ye want, Sassenach. Though it’s closed, so ye willna meet the team today.”

“You can introduce them to me another time, I’m just really curious about that knitting factory of yours,” she smirked, putting on her hat.

“Come on then.” The Scot held out his hand, an ease now settled between them, and she accepted it.

***********

The converted barns were on the other side of the estate, barely visible from the main house. From the outside, it looked like any other barns on a farm. Wooden and high. But from the inside, it wasn’t what Claire was expecting. Not at all.

The place was filled with different machines. Antique and modern. Shelves were packed with different knitting yarns – stored by colour, from the darkest shades to the lightest ones. A big table sat in the corner with different types of pattern making and various books on the subject. And on another side were racks of different type of garments, from cardigans, to sweaters, and even to scarves.

“Welcome to  _Mackenzie & Sons_, Sassenach,” he stated proudly, closely following her and watching her.

“Jamie, this place is amazing!” Claire exclaimed, turning around to look at him in awe.

“Thank ye kindly. We’re a team of six, in total,” he explained, leading her around.

“I take care of the business sides of things. Then there’s Fergus, who is in charge of the marketing. Glenna is in charge of the yarn, and all the different types ye can see on the shelves there,” he pointed, smiling.

“We also have our own sheep to take care of. That’s Angus’ job, shavin’ and all. And then Marsali and Joan are in charge of the pattern and garment making. We dinna have a lot of them, but that’s what this place is all about, limited editions of the best quality possible.”

“And when did you say this all started?” Claire asked, touching one of the machines carefully.

“In 1815. My great-great-great-grandfather, also named Jamie, started it. Some of the machines we have aroun’ are the ones he bought, and they still function perfectly. Even better than the new ones, sometimes,” he chuckled softly, a sound that made her look at him instantly and smile.

Jamie noticed and cleared his throat, continuing his storytelling of the brand’s history. “My grandfather received a warrant from the Queen herself in the late 50s. We’ve got a note in the archives from the Palace just askin’ for “New Cardigan, please.” She’s verra found of our knits,” the Scot winked. Or tried to, it seemed. It was both hilarious and very cute.

“The Queen herself? Damn, James,” she grinned, walking over to him.

“But truly, this is all really fascinating, and filled with so much history too. I didn’t suspect Lallybroch to surprise me in such a way.”

“Highlands have that power, ye ken? Always somethin’ magical happening, no matter where ye look or go.” He leaned against the wall, watching her.

“Mmh.” She continued exploring around. She was starting to believe what people had been telling her since she had arrived. Scotland really was magical, no matter where she went or what she did.

“Can ye knit?”

His question made her laugh, an earthy sound coming from the pit of her stomach and echoing in the barns. Claire didn’t know it, but her laugh made his heart beam. “No, I can’t knit. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Never too late to learn,” he quipped in response, walking toward one of the closets. “Chose the yarn ye like most, Sassenach. Whichever colour ye want.”

Frowning, Claire watched him for a second before turning and studying the shelves closely. After a minute, she decided on a ball of yarn in a colour matching the one of her hat.

Jamie walked over to her, handing her a set of knitting needles. “Those are for ye, too.”

“Do you want me to make you a hat?” she grinned, turning to look at him.

“Maybe start wi’ a scarf, eh? Something a wee bit simpler for a first.” His lip flicked up into a teasing smile.

She nudged him, though she enjoyed seeing him loosen up a bit. “Are you making fun of me already?”

“I wouldna dare, Sassenach, but ‘tis slightly easier to start with a scarf because it’s in a straight line. Once ye get verra good at it, ye can make me a hat,” he smiled, taking the yarn from her, hands brushing against one another.

“I’m gonna start ye on the first line, wi’ a basic stitch, and then ye can continue from there, aye? ‘Tis always the same motion anyway. Once ye get the gist of it, ‘tis verra easy.”

Nodding, Claire closely watched Jamie’s skilled hands at work. It seemed really easy when she saw him do it, but she was soon paying more attention to his hands than what they were doing. She realised they were strong yet gentle. Rough but soft.

He was skilled. Very skilled.

“Here ya go.” His voice broke up her staring as he handed her the needles.

“Can’t I use one of the machines to do it, instead? I’m sure it takes less time,” Claire asked, grinning mischievously.

“Ye’d be surprised,” Jamie mumbled, coming to stand behind her and taking her hands. “It isna difficult, I promise. Look.”

Claire stood straighter, careful not to have her body touch his. She couldn’t ignore the warmth radiating through him, as if he was an actual human furnace. That’s when she noticed her hands had started to shake softly — not because of the drugs she was missing, though. His grip on her hands tightened, soothing the shaking at once.

“Ye take yer right needle and insert it in the first stitch,” he explained, making her do the movement with him.

“Loop the yarn over the end of the right-hand needle, here, and then wrap the yarn over the end of the needle going from the front to the back.” His breath tickled the back of her neck and she concentrated on not shivering in response.

“Ye use yer left index finger to hold the yarn taut and keep it in a loop aroun’ the needle,” Jamie continued, much more concentrated on his task than on how much Claire was paying attention.

She followed his moves, trying to remember everything he explained to her and pushing the rush of heat forming in her stomach to the back of her mind. “Like that?” she asked, moving the needle like he told her too.

“Aye. Now pull the yarn through the first cast on stitch and let the old stitch slip off, like that.” He smiled, watching her.

“Use the right-hand needle to pull the loop ye just made through the stitch on the left-hand needle. Once ye have done this, let the old stitch slip off the end of the left-hand needle as the new stitch is goin’ to replace it on the right-hand needle.”

“Am I doing it right?” She looked at him, smiling.

He nodded, holding her hands. “Ye are. Just be careful no’ to let it slip off or ye’ll have to start over again.”

“Yeah, I don’t want that,” she chuckled, her breath tickling his cheek.

“Now ye just repeat the motion until the end of the row and start over again. Like I told ye, ‘tis always the same move.” Jamie let go of her hands carefully and took a step back, realising, by the way his cheeks had turned crimson, that they were positioned closer than they should have been.

Clearing his throat, he ran his fingers through his copper curls. “Sassenach? Do ye need a ride to the village sometime today? I just remembered I have to bring some parcels at the post office and I ken ye still dinna have the Jeep back, so—”

“Actually, I do,” she turned, looking at him.

“I need some groceries so that’d be very helpful. I’ll go and get my bag quickly at the cottage and meet you back at the car in five minutes? If you want to leave now, that is.”

“Aye.” He nodded, smiling. “Bring yer soon-to-be scarf back wi’ ye so ye can practice at home.”

“All right.” Claire walked towards the door but stopped, looking at Jamie quickly. “Oh, I wanted to ask you if I could get some forget-me-nots from your garden? A little bouquet to put in my vase?”

The redhead looked at her and nodded with a kind smile. “Suit yerself, Sassenach. Take as many as ye like.”


	6. Honeyvoiced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favourite chapter, so far and I’m so excited to finally share it with you! As usual, a big thank you to all of you guys who comment and leave kuddos on this story and who enjoy this version of Jamie and Claire. 
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter; I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> The song is Jenny Of Old Stones by Florence and The Machine!

The next few days were blissful for Claire.  _Slow, like a river stream._  A foreign sensation of peace had wrapped itself around her, and for the first time in a very long time, she actually felt good. She took the opportunity to rest and truly refocus, her withdrawal symptoms having reduced in severity as well.

She saw Jamie only briefly, but both times, he had been considerably less grumpy, smiling more — bringing her milk and eggs, and introducing her to the team at the factory. They had become friends, that much she knew. And something else.  _Something_  — she didn’t know exactly what, yet. She was making considerable progress on the scarf she had started to knit for him. Though it looked miserable, she was proud of it. She could already hear the Scot’s amused chuckle when he’ll see it. The simple thought made her smile.

Claire also started to help Moira at the shop in the afternoons, finding the company of the older woman a great and fascinating distraction. She was like the grandmother she always dreamt of having. Telling stories about the history of the Highlands and Scottish legends, around a warm cuppa and homemade scones.

“I’ve finished storing the two boxes of books you gave me,” Claire exclaimed with a smile, walking towards the counter.

“Right in time for tea, dearie,” Moira winked, depositing the tray on the table and sitting down on one of the high stools.

Grinning, Claire sat down in turn and grabbed a scone along with some jam. “I love helping out here, you keep me well fed and all.”

“No one goes starvin’ under my supervision, lass,” the grey-haired woman poured the tea, adding some milk in both their mugs.

“But thank ye for keepin’ me company here, tis verra enjoyable to have ye aroun’. At least I dinna have to talk to myself!“

Claire smiled, taking in a bit of scone. “It’s really no problem. I love spending time here and I’ve been learning a great lot about Scotland, I must admit. Which is great, I love history.”

“What did ye study at school?” Moira watched her, sipping her tea carefully.

“I didn’t go to university, I moved to London at eighteen and worked in bars for a year until I started working in the music industry,” she explained, staying vague on the details of a life she had almost forgotten since arriving here.

“Music ye say? I might a wee favour to ask out of ye then…”

Nodding, Claire sipped some tea. “Sure, what is it?”

“Weel, ye ken the celebration of Samhain is startin’ tonight wi’ the Scottish festival—”

“Samhain? That’s the Gaelic for Halloween, right?”

“Halloween is derived from Samhain, aye. The church often took pagan holidays and renamed them to their own purposes. ‘Tis a bonny time to be here, lass. Ghosts roaming the street freely for a night and all — comin’ to the festival wi’ all of us,” she winked, her smile full of mischief.

Claire couldn’t help but smile in return. She was always very fond of ghost stories. “What would Halloween —  _Samhain_  — be without a good ghost story, eh?”

“We have those for sure!” Moira laughed, looking at Claire.

“So, about the festival.” Finishing her tea, Claire paused before continuing. “What can I help you with?”

“I already told ye there are celebrations all over the town, but there is a wee show at the local pub, where a few people perform and all. I do it every year, but this year, my niece has been called back to Edinburgh and I have no one to sing to accompany me on the piano—”

“To sing?” The question amused the Englishwoman as much as it surprised her. Though she knew Moira didn’t know who she was, she was sure of it.

“What makes you think I can sing?”

“I hear ye humming all the time, and Geillis told me ye had a great voice.”

“If Geillis told you then, I guess I can’t say no,” she smiled, finding the idea of going up on a stage again thrilling. For once, no one would expect anything of her more than to sing a song, and that was it.

“Good, because I willna accept another answer from ye!” Moira got up quickly, disappearing into the back room without another word.

“What song is it?” Claire asked, taking the last bite of her scone.

“An old Celtic song.” The older lady came back, holding a piece of paper out to her. “I got the lyrics here for ye!”

Claire picked it up, reading the lyrics attentively before looking at Moira again, “It’s beautiful…What is it about?”

“‘Tis about a foreign girl who married the heir of Scotland, a verra long time ago. He was betrothed to a Stuart daughter, but he forfeited his claim to the throne in order to marry for love. Tragedy struck him and his love, leaving her a wanderin’ faerie in the Highlands. Legend says ye can hear her cry at the top of Craigh Na Duhn.”

She listened, her eyes going over the lyrics again, finding them hauntingly beautiful. She didn’t know if her voice would fit such a song, but she wanted to do it.

“I’ll sing it.”

**********

When Claire arrived at the pub in the early evening, it was packed.  _Noisy_.  A scent of cigarette mixed with distilled alcohol heavily hanging in the air — not much to her displeasure, she admitted.

Looking around, she tried to spot Moira, unsuccessful in her task until her eyes landed on the sight of Jamie sitting by the table with Geillis and the older woman. Her breath caught at the sight of him in a kilt. A Highlander in full regalia was an impressive sight— any Highlander, no matter how old, ill-favoured, or crabbed in appearance. A tall, straight-bodied, and by no means ill-favoured Highlander in the prime of his life was breathtaking.

“Claire!” Geillis spotted her and waved enthusiastically to make sure she had seen them. Jamie and Moira turned their heads to look at her, smiles forming on both of their faces for her.

Collecting herself and ignoring the hot flush creeping up her neck, she made her way towards their table with a smile in turn.

“I thought I was going to be late,” she said a bit loudly so they would hear her in the crowded pub.

“Just in time,” Moira grinned, getting up. “What do ye drink, dearie?”

“Water, thank you—”

“Water?! At least ye’re goin’ to taste the whisky, are ye no?”

Claire grinned, removing her coat, “I don’t really like it.”

“Dinna say that too loudly,” Geillis advised her, pulling her down to the chair.

“Water ‘tis, then,” Moira rolled her eyes but smirked before disappearing behind the crowd towards the bar.

“I’ve heard ye’re goin’ to sing,” Geillis nudged her, smirking.

“Yeah, thank you very much for recommending my talent to Moira.” Claire removed her hat before shaking her head.

Jamie smiled, watching her. “‘Tis yer first festival, then. Ye’ll see, ‘tis a lot of fun, Sassenach.”

“You do look dashing in your kilt.” She heard herself say it before she could realise it and bit the inside of her cheek, cursing herself silently.

“Och, thank ye kindly,” he smiled softly, his cheeks turning crimson.

Geillis shot Claire a look but didn’t say anything. Instead, she tried to hide her smirk behind her glass of whisky.

Jamie cleared his throat, getting up. “I’ll go see if Moira needs help.”

“Aye, do that big Scot,” the other redhead answered and held out her drink to him. “And get me a refill, would ye?”

“Like I have a choice in the matter,” Jamie chuckled, taking the glass and walking towards the bar.

“What’s goin’ on between ye two?” The redhead raised her eyebrows, turning to look at Claire.

“Nothing, why?” Claire frowned, suddenly worried she did something to upset Jamie without realising it.

“That sexual tension is so thick, I could cut it wi’ a knife.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claire brushed off immediately, pretending to look around and feigning ignorance. In fact, she knew. She knew it perfectly well, but she ignored it.

“Then ye must be the only one because I’m sure ‘tis verra clear to everyone in this pub that ye want to climb each other badly.” Geillis’ grin grew wider.

“Good God, Geillis.” She shook her head, exasperated and regretting not getting alcohol already. “Jamie is a very nice guy, I can admit to that, but it’s neither the time nor the place for me to start anything with a man.”

“Relax, I’m just jokin’,” Geillis rested her head on her shoulder and smiled. “And I love to tease ye! Let’s talk abou’ something else, aye?”

“Yes, please.” Claire’s fingers tapped on her leg nervously. She was already regretting accepting Moira’s plea to sing in front of everyone here. She didn’t think that many people would come.

“Are ye nervous or is it yer need for ye know what?” Geillis looked at her, squeezing her hand.

“A bit of both, though it’s more the first option this time. I just realised I’m going to have to go up there and sing in front of strangers, and I can’t hide behind a lot of makeup and extravagant clothing.”

“Ye dinna have to hide behind anything when ye have a voice like yers, Claire,” the redhead smiled. “It gives me the chills because ‘tis so beautiful.”

“You’re just saying this so I don’t get mad at you for recommending me to Moira,” Claire grinned slightly, her remark making Geil laugh.

“I willna be sorry for that, it gets me a free concert from ye!”

“Next time, just ask me to sing for you when you come around the cottage, okay? Or free tickets.”  

“Fine.”  Her friend held her close. “But ye’re going to be great, dinna fash. Plus most of the people here are already drunk and most likely won’t pay attention to the music, it happens every year.”

“Good,” Claire leaned back, her eyes stopping on Jamie, who was talking to Moira as they waited for the drinks at the bar.

***********

An hour later, Claire found herself up on the little stage, standing behind the microphone and slightly blinded by the lights in front of her. Her hands were shaking. Her stomach was in knots. Her ears were ringing from the noise. She felt like she was about to faint at any moment — _until the music started._  
  
Claire forgot everything going on and just started to do what she knew how to do best. She started to sing.  

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_  
Jenny would dance with her ghosts  
The ones she lost and the ones she had found  
and the ones who had loved her the most

Her voice reverberated throughout the pub, making everyone go quiet to look at her. All Claire could hear was Moira playing the piano next to her, not realising that the older woman, too, was mesmerized by her voice.

_The ones who’d been gone for so very long_  
She couldn’t remember their names  
The spun her around on the damp old stones  
Spun away all her sorrow and pain

Singing, she finally dared to scan the room and realised Jamie and Geillis had moved to the front to watch her. She let the lyrics possess her. Upon reading them earlier, she thought they were so beautiful.  _Haunting_. The idea of dancing with ghosts and never wanting to leave. Claire felt like she did that every day of her life, already. But even more so since arriving here.

_and she never wanted to leave_  
never wanted to leave  
never wanted to leave

She saw Jamie smile — so wide and broad, she almost wanted to weep. Her whisky eyes locked with his, letting herself drown in them as she sang. A mixture of awe and amazement floating in their blue colour. She felt like she was only singing to him.  _For him_. And, in a way, she was.

_They danced through the day and into the night_  
through the snow that swept through the hall  
From winter to summer then winter again  
til the walls did crumble and fall

Moira stopped playing the piano, leaving Claire singing a cappella. Her ethereal voice, angelic, finishing the song like a lullaby — able to soothe anger and pain. Able to send shivers through the bodies of anyone present in the pub that night.

_and she never wanted to leave_  
never wanted to leave  
never wanted to leave

Applause erupted as soon as she was done, taking her out of the trance she had lost herself in when she was singing. She smiled, bowing her head slightly, in a shy thank you. Too overwhelmed and anxious to say a word.

“Oh, dearie!” Moira launched herself on her and hugged her tightly as soon as they got off the stage. “Geillis wasna lyin’ when she said ye could sing!”

Claire held her close, slightly shaking as the high was coming off. “You played beautifully.”

“I stopped playing halfway and no one noticed because everyone was mesmerized by ye!” Moira grinned, watching her.

“I need a strong drink after this,” she joked, smirking.

“And strong drinks we have here!” Moira exclaimed, pulling her back towards their table where Jamie and Geillis were waiting. Claire ignored how everyone was still staring at her and followed her grey-haired friend.

************

The hours passed so quickly, Claire didn’t realise how late it was getting. The pub was still very much crowded but had grown quieter. Some music softly playing in the background while the last of the people shared laughs and drinks in the dim lights. Geillis and Moira had left a while ago, leaving the Englishwoman alone with her Scottish friend who seemed to be in awe of her since her performance earlier in the evening.

“Do ye want another drink, Sassenach?” he asked softly, pointing at her empty glass.

Shaking her head of curls, she smiled. “No, I already had too much for tonight. I’m going to finish my water, instead.”

“Ye’ve only had a wee dram,” Jamie smirked, pouring more water into her empty glass.

“Already too much when it comes to whisky.” She leaned closer to him, enjoying the calmness he brought to her.

His smile faded in a second as his eyes caught something at the door. Frowning, Claire looked at him. “Are you alright? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No’ a ghost no.” He reluctantly took his eyes off the pub’s entrance. “Just my ex and her new boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she answered softly, taking a sip of water. “When did you two break up?”

“Four months ago.”Jamie took a sip of his whisky, making her realise he was probably still very much not over his ex.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, her heart squeezing a tad.

“‘Tis ‘no yer fault, Sassenach.” He looked at her, his smile coming back. “‘Tis just my pride is still a bit sore because of the breakup. Ye see, I ken she wasna the right lass for me, but I canna help but be hurt by how she left me.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There isna much to talk abou’.” He touched her hand, his thumb absently stroking the back of it. “Olivia and I had been friends since high school. We started to date two years ago, and I was convinced we would spend our lives together. That was before she decided to have an affair wi’ one of her colleagues.”

Claire’s heart broke at that. She knew all too well what it felt like to be cheated on. She squeezed his hand, looking at him. “It’s her loss, you know.”

His lip flicked up in a tender smile. “Thank ye, Sassenach. Truly.”

“Do you want to make her evening worthy? Because she’s been looking over here with a slightly intrigued look.”

Jamie frowned. “What do ye mean?”

Feeling suddenly very bold — though more from the adrenaline of the evening than any alcohol she might have consumed — she moved closer to him, her face barely an inch from his. “I’m going to kiss you now, is that alright?”

Nodding, Jamie licked his lips before whispering, “aye, ‘tis…”

It was just a kiss between two friends. Nothing more. Lips overlapping chastely. It couldn’t be more, Claire knew it. Yet, she was also very aware of the electric shock she experienced as soon as her lips touched his. She had kissed her fair share of men but this was something else.  _Something different. Something more._

His lips tasted of whisky.  _Tangy and strong_. Mixed with her own taste of faint cigarettes. The kiss grew slowly, along with the goosebumps forming on her skin. Claire felt his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“Hi,” came from a high-pitched voice next to them, pulling them apart reluctantly.

Claire turned her head, feeling her cheeks flush, and she looked up to find Jamie’s ex-girlfriend smiling down at them. She was tall and blonde, with dark eyes. She was smiling, too. A fake smile, though.

“Hello,” Claire answered, collecting herself and realising she was almost sitting on Jamie’s lap.

“Olivia,” the redheaded Scot said first, smiling politely at the other woman.

“You won’t introduce me?” Olivia smiled, doing as best as she could to not show the annoyance all over her face. Apparently, she had a glass face as well.

“Och, ‘course,” he grinned, looking at Claire and kissing her cheek. “This is Claire Beauchamp—”

“I’m his girlfriend,” Claire chimed in before he could add anything and smiled. “Nice to meet you!”

“An English lass?” The blonde seemed surprised at this detail.

“Och weel,” Jamie shrugged, holding Claire’s hand over the table. “Scottish dinna work out that well the last time.”

Claire suppressed a giggle and sipped some water instead.

“You look like that singer, Elizabeth,” Olivia frowned, watching Claire intensely. “No one ever told you that?”

“I get that quite a lot, actually.”

“Weel, she’s really good!”

“Oh yeah, she’s alright. Though, I find her vocal range to be pretty stale,” Claire smirked, taking the piss out of herself and to the fact she didn’t get recognized again.

“Pretty stale? Christ, ye must have never seen her in concert!” Olivia seemed to have forgotten all about Jamie as she was talking to Claire…about Elizabeth. “Jamie and I actually saw her last year and it was phenomenal!”

At that moment, Claire realised Jamie had probably known who she was all along and smirked, looking at him. “Did you, now?”

“We did, Sassenach,” he smiled in response, almost embarrassed. “And ‘tis true, she was phenomenal. She has the voice of an angel.”

“Does she?” Raising her eyebrows, her smirk turned into a shy smile. They both completely forgot Olivia was actually standing next to them, watching the two of them attentively.

“Aye,” Jamie said softly, stroking her hand.

Olivia cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll go back over to the group and leave you two alone.”

Claire looked up, smiling. “Bye.”

Leaving just as quickly as she had come, Olivia didn’t look at them again while making her way towards another table. Jamie looked at Claire. “Thank ye, Sassenach—”

“You know who am I,” she grinned teasingly.

“I wasna sure…not until I heard ye sing tonight,” he admitted “And I dinna want to make ye uncomfortable by askin,’” he added, getting up in turn.

Claire handed him his coat and put on her own. “Well, now you know.”

“It isna goin’ to change anythin’, ye ken? I ken ye’re Claire before ye’re Elizabeth.” He watched her, brushing a stray curl away from her cheek.

“Good.” Smiling, she put on her hat and fought the urge to kiss him again.

“Shall I drive ye back, Sassenach?” He held out his hand to her.

“Yes, please.” She took it and followed him out of the pub, feeling blissful and — for the first time in a long while —  _happy_.

The drive home was rather quiet. Neither of them talked about the kiss — Claire was aware it had happened purely to annoy Olivia more than anything else. And she didn’t want to think about any other possibilities, really. She wasn’t ready to open up to another man.  _Not yet._ However, the more she looked at Jamie, the more she realised that maybe she could, if she could put her fear of being hurt aside. A task far easier said than done.

Jamie stopped the car at the cottage, looking at her with a smile. “Here ya go, Sassenach. I hope ye enjoyed yer evenin’ at the festival.”

“I had a great time,” she smiled, kissing his cheek. Lips lingering a tad too long on his cheek. “Good night, Jamie.”

“Goodnight, Claire,” smiling back, he stroked her cheek.

Reluctantly, Claire got out of the car and made her way towards the cottage. She felt his eyes on her, and she slowly realized she now craved that feeling. Quickly, she opened the door and disappeared from his glance.

Claire removed her coat and hat, walking towards the living room as she released a long sigh. She threw her bag onto the sofa, letting its contents drop on the floor by the same occasion.

Sighing, she kneeled down to pick up it all up, and froze.

On the floor laid a little bag of cocaine — one she didn’t even know she had in there. Her hands started to shake, the urge to take it coming back to her. Like an old demon she had mistakenly thought she had finally gotten rid of, rearing its ugly head back into her life.


	7. Addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support on this story. It warms my heart to know people care so much about this version of Jamie and Claire. And thank you for reading, let me know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> Enjoy <3

Claire sat on the floor for hours, the little bag of cocaine firmly planted in the palm of her hand, amber eyes staring at it.  _She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t slept._  Exhaustion rooted itself behind her eyelids, making them heavy.  _So heavy_. But she couldn’t bring herself to do anything,  not even get up to throw the drugs down the drain. **  
**

The last few days, she had almost forgotten about her addiction. Or, at least, she could put it in the back of her head often enough to not think about it all day long — other than when the need for it crept on her without a warning. It helped to know she had no means to access it.  _No way to get cocaine._  Yet now, she had it. Not enough to sustain her for more than one or two times.  _Maybe that was enough._  Maybe then, she could truly stop afterwards. All she needed was one last dose.  _Just one._

Dawn crept on slowly as her mind raced. The sun rose with the morning, the birds started to sing, and the rain stopped. But still, Claire didn’t notice any of those things. Her eyes glued to her hand, like her entire life depended on it. In a way, it did.  _Or maybe it didn’t_. She couldn’t think at this point. Everything was a blurry haze.

So much so, she did not hear the knock at the door. She didn’t hear it open, nor see Jamie come inside the cottage, calling softly for her. Claire didn’t even notice him watching her for minutes on end.

“Claire.”

His soft voice finally reached her and she looked up. Seeing him equalled an electric shock. Forgetting how tired she was, Claire got up immediately and cleared her throat, letting the little bag of cocaine drop on the floor by the same occasion.

“Jamie.” She tried to stay calm, knowing full well he had seen the bag. His eyes were glued to the little pouch.

Without a word, the tall redhead walked over to her and knelt down, picking the bag up.

Claire was mortified.  _Ashamed_. The only thing she hoped was for the floor to swallow her so she’d disappear. Away from him. Away from herself. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her eyes dropped to the floor in turn, too afraid to meet his own. Too afraid of what she would find floating in the blue sea.  _Disappointment_. _Pity. Disgust._

But when Jamie lifted her chin for her to look at him, she found none of those emotions. What she found was concern. Worry.  _And something else._  Something — she didn’t know what, exactly.  

“Did ye take any, Sassenach?” he asked gently, eyes locked with hers.

“No,” she answered, much to his relief.

“I ken ye dinna want to take any.” He cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “No’ really, anyway. ‘Tis just yer wee head messin’ wi’ ye, Claire.”

Nodding, she closed her eyes, melting into his healing touch. “I know, but my head is pretty persuasive these days.”

“Let me get rid of that, aye? Then ye’re goin’ to rest. I can see ye’re crawlin’ wi’ sleep, Sassenach.” Jamie walked towards the kitchen.

“I can deal with my own shit, you know,” she sighed, sitting down.

“No, ye canna,” he turned, watching her. “And ye dinna have to, either.”

Claire looked up at him, silent communication passing through them both. A promise from him that he was not going to leave her alone until she was truly fine.

Jamie’s smile was warm and tender. The most reassuring one she had ever received from anyone in her life. He gave her a nod before disappearing into the kitchen to get rid of the white powder.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes and finally realised how tired she was. Exhausted beyond measure. Drained of energy, both mentally and physically. She couldn’t comprehend how she didn’t outright cave in and take the drugs when she had first found them last night. She realised that maybe she wasn’t so weak after all. Though if Jamie hadn’t shown up, she didn’t know what she might have ended up doing.

“‘Tis gone.” Jamie sat down next to her and carefully took her hand.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him and managed a smile. “Thank you. I think I would have ended up taking it if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Give yerself more credit than that, Sassenach.” He wrapped his arm around her neck and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She couldn’t explain the feeling of peace he brought her.

“No, really,” she admitted softly, ashamed of her own behaviour.

“What matters is that ye dinna take it and that ‘tis gone now.” He looked at her, smiling. “I dinna believe ye enjoy taking drugs all that much, anyway.”

“My brain thinks I enjoy it,” Claire sighed, letting his warmth radiate against her.

“What does yer heart tell you?” Jamie absently stroked her arm, the proximity not lost on her.

“My heart wants to know what the fuck is going on. It wants to know why I can’t seem to get rid of this shit eating away at me all day and all night.”

“How long have ye been doin’ drugs?” He held her close, stroking a stray curl behind her ear.

“A few months.” Claire looked down, the images of her first time coming back to her clearly. It had been before a show, right after arguing with Frank for yet another time. It had been laying around in the dressing room, and she didn’t even know to whom it belonged. She thought she’d do it just one time.  _Once_. To have energy and forget about her problems.

“It was always a little bit at the time, always before a show or in the morning when I was exhausted from partying all night.” She almost chuckled at the cliché she turned out to be.

“Then I started to have withdrawals, so I kept taking the cocaine to not feel the effects of missing it. To keep feeling good. Or, at least, to have the impression I was feeling good. That I was invincible and that nothing could affect me.”

“When I came over the other day and ye fainted…” Jamie lifted her chin to him. Always gentle. Always doing the best he could to listen to her without judgment.

“Ye were in withdrawals, weren’t ye?”

Claire nodded, not able to meet his eyes. Geillis had told her everything about his brother William, and here she was. “I was…and it got better, it really did. The first few days were so shitty, I just wanted it to be over, but Geil was here with me and was such good help. I didn’t even think about drugs all that much, I didn’t even know I still had some in my bag.”

“Dinna fash.” Jamie scooped her in his arms and held her close. So close, she could feel his beating heart against hers. “I’m here now, and I’m no’ leaving ye alone for a while.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t put into words how thankful she was to him right now. So instead, she nuzzled his neck and closed her eyes. He smelt like patchouli and musk — a scent reminding her of home. A home she had never known but always longed for. Claire didn’t know for how long she had held onto him for dear life. She didn’t know how long it took for his heartbeat to soothe her to sleep. Letting herself succumb to slumber after a sleepless night, in the comfort of his arms.

***********

Claire woke up sometime later, still laying on the sofa but no longer wrapped in Jamie’s arms. A realisation that slightly saddened her. Instead, a plaid covered her for warmth. The fireplace was lit, and some music was softly playing.

_Dreams by Fleetwood Mac_ , she noted with a smile, eyes still closed.  

Jamie wasn’t on the sofa, but she sensed him in the house. Probably in the kitchen, based on the noises coming out of that room. Of kettles boiling and cupboards closing. She rubbed her eyes, sat up, and wrapped the plaid around her shoulders before rising from the sofa.

She slowly walked towards the kitchen, almost afraid to not find Jamie there. Afraid that he had been some sort of vision, and that she was going mad.

“Ye’re awake, Sassenach.” His face lit up and she relaxed immediately, seeing he was, indeed, here. “Just in time for a cuppa.”

“How long did I sleep for?” she frowned, walking over to him.

“A good few hours, ‘tis the early afternoon now, but ye needed it.” He handed her a mug. “Careful, ‘tis hot.”

Claire leaned against the counter, holding the mug carefully and watching him with a smile. “Thanks for the tea…and for being here.”

“How are ye feeling?” He stood in front of her, crossing his arms. “And dinna say fine just to make me happy, aye?”

“I feel…” she paused, carefully taking a sip of the boiling tea. The liquid going down her gullet like a warm embrace in winter.

“I feel okay, I think. Slightly anxious, but that’s normal, I guess. At least my need to take anything seems to be gone.“

“That is a good thing,” he smiled, holding out a cookie to her.

“Jamie, as thankful as I am to have you around, you don’t have to waste your time taking care of a walking cliché, you know. You’re not a babysitter—“

“Take that cookie and stop saying nonsense, Sassenach. I’m here because I want to, no’ because I have to,” he interrupted, smiling and taking the mug out of her hand to put it back on the counter.

Lifting her up, he brought her back to the living room. “And ye’re no’ a walking cliché anymore, cause I’m carrying ye now.”

Claire couldn’t help but chuckle, holding onto him. “I’m a carried cliché.”

“Ye’re no’ a cliché.” He carefully sat her on the sofa and winked. A little boy failing an attempt at coordinating one eye instead of two at the same time.

Jamie disappeared to the kitchen before she had the time to comment to get the mugs and cookies on a tray. She might as well stop pretending she didn’t want to have him around, when in fact, that’s all she cared for.

“I thought we could watch a movie, but I remembered there’s no’ TV.” Smirking, the Scot sat down next to her, putting the tray on the coffee table.

“Indeed, there isn’t.” She took the mug and leaned back again, letting the porcelain heat up her palms. “We’re going to have to talk or stay in an awkward silence, lullabied by Fleetwood Mac.”

“Do ye like them, Sassenach?” Jamie tilted his head, looking at her with a smile that informed her he already knew the answer to his question.

“Considering Stevie Nicks is the person who inspired me to be a singer myself, you can say that, yeah.”

“If I recall correctly, she battled drugs too — and yet, she’s still here stronger than ever.” He handed her a cookie and she accepted it, a soft smile forming on her lips.

“Yeah, she is.”

“What I said is true, Claire.” He turned slightly, still watching her. “Ye’re not a cliché, even if you believe yerself to be just that. Ye’re a famous person dealing wi’ drugs, aye, but that doesn’t make you one.”  

“You’re too kind to me.” She put her mug away and took a cookie. Talking with Jamie felt like talking to an old friend. She wasn’t ashamed. All she needed was to say these things to someone. Things she had kept to herself for far too long.

“Ye’re no’ kind enough to yerself.” He took her hand, holding it in his.

Her lip flicked up at that. “Are you sure we’ve only met two weeks ago? It feels longer than that.”

“Aye, it does, mo nighean donn.” His thumb stroked the back of her neck.

Claire moved closer to him, eyes glued to the window in front of them. “What does that mean?”

“Eh…brown-haired lass,” he smiled, looking down at her.

“Rather a dull colour, brown, I’ve always thought,” she shrugged, smiling.

“No, not dull at all.” His smile softened, his voice lowering.

“It’s like…the water in a burn, the way it ruffles down the rocks. Dark in the wavy spots wi’ wee bits of auburn when the sun touches it.” Jamie stroked her hair behind her ear, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip softly.

Claire’s own lips tingled at the thought of how badly she wanted to kiss him again. How much she wanted to taste whisky from him again. She leaned closer, slowly.  _Very slowly._  All she could think about was kissing him. Feeling his own breath tickling her face at the proximity.

Before it was too late, Claire pulled away and cleared her throat. “So uhm…why did you come around this morning?”

“I wanted to thank ye for what ye did last night at the pub…wi’ Olivia and all.” He ran his fingers through his copper hair, her own hand burning to do the same and feel their softness.

“Oh, that was nothing.” She couldn’t help but blush, feeling her marbled-coloured cheeks turn crimson and hoping he didn’t notice. Not after what just happened. She also knew Jamie was gentlemanly enough not to mention anything.

“She texted me late last night,” he admitted, his confession making something turn inside of Claire. And for the first time, she felt a slight pang of jealousy in her stomach. Something she knew she wasn’t entitled to feel.  _He wasn’t hers_.

“Oh, did she?” she asked nonchalantly, “I mean, it’s none of my business, of course.”

He nodded. “But I didn’t plan on answerin’ her.”

“She broke your heart badly, didn’t she?” Claire instinctively touched his cheek, knowing she would never do such a thing to him.

“Aye, she did.” Jamie melted into her touch, closing his eyes for a brief second. “Though now, I realise I wasna in love wi’ her. Not the way I should have been, anyway.”

“Love is too complicated,” she sighed, stroking his chin.

“My mam used to say that love is only complicated when it’s not with the right person.” He opened his eyes again, locking them with her whisky ones.

“When you find the right person, it becomes simpler than you’d ever imagine it to be.”

“Wise woman, your mother,” Claire smiled, curling herself against him.

“That she was, aye,” Jamie answered fondly, his voice growing quiet. He closed his eyes again and Claire knew exactly why he had done so. To bring up a picture of his mother. She often did the same during the rare times she talked or thought about her own parents.

They stayed quiet for a long moment, neither one of them wanting to break the comfortable silence they found themselves in. Simply enjoying one another, without the need for superficial conversations. Claire wanted to open up to him, and for him to open up to her. But they were in no rush to do so just now.

Jamie moved slightly, laying back to rest his head on her lap, and looked up at her. “You know, Sassenach… ye’re pretty domesticated for a rockstar.”

“I’ve been called many things, but domesticated might be a first,” she chuckled, looking down at him. “Is it a compliment?”

“Aye, ‘tis no’ a bad thing to be at all. Sets ye apart from all the others, no’ that I know many other rockstars.”

“I never really wanted to be one, when I think about it. I just wanted to sing for people, might it be a little pub or in the street, I didn’t really care. I never expected this to blow up.”

“Ye canna command these things, it just happens. And it happened to ye because ‘tis was meant to be, is all. Ye are far more talented than ye think yerself to be, I’m sure.”

“I couldn’t sing or play music to save my life,” he chuckled softly. “I wish I could though, but I’m tone deaf. My mam sent me to piano lessons when I was a wee lad, and the teacher told her pretty quickly I should find some other things to do. Ye told me ye could play, aye?”

“I can, yeah, though I never had any lessons.” Claire stroked his copper curls, leaning her head back.

“No?” He lifted his head a bit, frowning.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. “I taught myself to play instruments when I was a child, and apparently I have perfect pitch. It helped a lot.”

“That’s verra impressive.” Jamie sat up again, looking at her though she couldn’t see him.

Claire shrugged again, opening one eye to look at him after sensing him move his head away from her lap.

“Can I ask ye something, mo nighean donn?”

“Of course.”

“I’m no’ doctor, and please, tell me if I’m wrong or if it’s no’ my place to say anything. But I feel like yer addiction for music might have faded wi’ the notoriety. That’s why ye found somethin’ else to give ye the same satisfaction.”

“That’s part of it, yeah,” Claire agreed, finally realising something so simple.

“It just gave me something more. Like music used to do before I got swallowed by all of this. It snowballed really quickly into something I wasn’t prepared for. No one could be. I was pretty good at dealing with it, at the beginning. But the more time passed, the more it started to overwhelm me, and I didn’t know what to do about it but keep going and find something to sustain me until I would collapse. I understood myself only as I destroyed myself.” A tear strolled down her cheek as a lump formed in her throat.

“I’m a mess,” she whispered, closing her eyes to let other tears free.

“Ye’re a masterpiece,” Jamie said softly, his thumb brushing away her tears.

“And masterpieces aren’t perfect, Sassenach. They have flaws, otherwise, they’d be boring.”

All she could do was smile. Because no amount of words could express what she wanted to say to him. How thankful she was. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, resting her head on his shoulder. Claire realised even if they had been talking about drugs, she had not wanted to use any since he had arrived. Because all she wanted was him.

“Ye ken what they say about addiction, dinna ye?” Jamie held her close, slowly stroking her crazy mass of brown curls. “To get rid of one….”

Claire felt her heart starting to rush in her chest. Pounding heavily against her ribcage. Pulling back, she looked up at him. A wave crashing against a rock. 

“Get another,” she whispered, straddling him.

Jamie swallowed, eyes glued on her, and his hands travelled down her back. She felt him wanting her as much as she wanted him. And she was tired of denying herself of it. Tired of fighting the way she felt about him. The way she craved him.

Claire kissed him then. A slow and passionate kiss as her hips started to move and seek friction, despite the layer of clothes between them both.

“Sassenach…” The Scot mumbled between two kisses. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, his hands cupping her arse.

“Are ye sure ye wanna do this?” He was breathless. So was she.

“Yes,” was the last word she said before starting to unbutton his shirt and kiss his neck. 

It was probably not wise. It was probably reckless. But she didn’t care. 

_Come what may._


	8. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for the feedback on this story! 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think of this new chapter <3

Claire stirred slowly, awoken by a cold breeze slipping under the duvet that made her naked body shiver. She felt a weight shift next to her, followed by two arms wrapping themselves around her waist to pull her closer. A warmth overwhelmed her body from the moment her skin touched Jamie’s. His own burning like a furnace, blocking away the cold. **  
**

His breathing was slow and steady. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was still very much asleep. She smiled, curling up against him, letting herself enjoy the silence. His heartbeat like a lullaby — one of those comforting ones her mother used to sing to her when she was cranky and sad.

Her body ached pleasantly. Her skin still bore the remnant of his kisses.  _His_   _touches_. _His scent_. She was consumed by him.  _All of him_. And it was far more pleasant than any drug she had ever taken. Claire was happy. It wasn’t much more complicated than that.

Time seemed to have stopped. She would have gladly stayed like this forever.  _In his arms._ A newfound safe haven. Images replaying in her mind as slumber took over her once more.

_Claire started to unbutton his shirt, her fingers slightly shaking, while her mouth was sealed with his. Sharing kisses that grew more feral by the second. Lips overlapping. Tongues clashing._

_“Sassenach…” He whispered, breathless. “If ye dinna stop it now, I’m goin’ to take ye right here on the sofa.”_

_“Well…” She bit her lip, smiling._

_“Nay.” His lip flicked up and he stroked her hair back. In a quick motion, with no effort whatsoever, Jamie got up with Claire wrapped around him._

_“What a strong lad —”_

_“Ye’re no’ verra heavy though, Sassenach.” Jamie kissed the tip of her nose and walked up the stairs toward the bedroom, holding her tightly._

_Ignoring him, Claire cupped his cheeks to kiss him again on their way. She couldn’t stop. It truly was like an addiction, though it was far stronger than anything she had ever taken well up before today. She must have him now or die. It wasn’t more complicated than that._

_Jamie laid her on the bed carefully, his shirt hanging open and revealing his toned chest. He removed it completely, throwing it somewhere around the room, quickly followed by his trousers. He stood in front of her, only in boxers — doing nothing to hide his arousal. He was so beautifully built. Sculpted by angels, it seemed. A sight that made her stomach turn in delight._

_She sat up, eyes locked with his._

_“Lay back down, Claire.” His voice was low and soft, in no way commanding. And yet, she couldn’t refuse him. He smiled, looking down at her. Blue eyes darkened with lust._

_She watched as he leaned over her and started the task of unzipping her jeans, removing them slowly, along her knickers, to go join the pile of clothes already on the floor. He then pulled up her top, a glint of surprise passing through his eyes at the realisation she wasn’t wearing a bra._

_He smiled tenderly, stroking her side. “Ye are so beautiful, Claire.”_

_She couldn’t help but blush. No other man had ever looked at her that way. _For the first time in her life, she believed it when he told her so.__

_Bending down his head, Jamie started to stamp a trail of kisses in between her breasts and up to her neck, goosebumps erupting all over the porcelain of her skin. His breath warm against her. She was blinded by lust, as much as he was. She had never felt like this before._

_His lips reached hers again, kissing her with so much passion her knees would have given up if she wasn’t already laying down. She managed to pull down his boxers, freeing his erection. He was merely an inch from her, throbbing with need. Waiting for her to accept him._

_Opening her legs, she didn’t break their kiss until he pulled away from her, sea blue eyes looking for confirmation that she wanted him to continue._

_Claire didn’t need to say a word, simply nodding as a silent understanding passed through them. She wanted him. She wanted this. Like she had never wanted anything in her life up to this moment._

_Slowly, Jamie slid into her, making sure she was alright still. She couldn’t help but claw his arms at the sensation. It felt like the first time. Like the last time. And all the times in between. Like they had known each other forever. Like their bodies just knew. He clogged her senses. She couldn’t think. She barely could see. She couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care._

_It was blissful._

_Claire kissed him again, wrapping a leg around his waist. He started to move. Slowly at first, his lips worshipping the skin of her neck, reddening at the meeting of his scruff. She arched her back, letting a groan escape her lips before she could realise it._

_“Faster,” she commanded in his ear, pressing him closer with her leg. Her voice was hoarse. Raspy. She almost didn’t recognize it.  
_

_He increased his movements, pinning her arms above her head. It was almost too much for her. She didn’t know where she started and where he finished. They made one. Their souls reuniting, it seemed._

_“Give me yer mouth, Sassenach,” he groaned, capturing her lips one more time as their hips moved together in a quick and steady pace. Driving them both completely mad._

_She couldn’t bring herself to look away from his eyes. Drowning into their blue colour. Suffocating. She could tell his only goal was to make her come. To fall apart under his touch so he could put her back together. Over and over again._

_Claire surrendered. Too quickly. Not quickly enough. She let herself go. Gave herself to him completely. He could have done anything to her at that moment. She was his, and that was it._

_They danced a long dance together. Hours in bed, kissing, touching. Getting to know one another, yet knowing everything already. When they weren’t asleep in each other’s arms, they were joined again. Slowly. Tenderly._

Jamie stirred this time, waking her up again by the same occasion. She wasn’t cold anymore, enveloped by his arms and his warmth. She turned slightly and opened her eyes to look at him, looking at her with a mixture of tenderness and grumpiness.

“Good mornin’, Sassenach,” he mumbled softly, not completely out of slumber. 

“I think we woke up before Gary,” she whispered, smirking.

“Aye, ‘tis verra early.” He pulled her closer, yawning.

“The sun isna even up yet,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.  

“It’s not like we have to move, grumpy bear,” she whispered against his lips, wrapping a leg around his waist.

“Christ, yer feet are cold!” Jamie chuckled, still sleepy-eyed.

“We can’t both be human furnaces, you know.” Stroking his chin with her index finger, she smiled. She didn’t feel shy. She felt good and comfortable with him, sharing a type of intimacy.

He smiled, cupping her chin to kiss her.  _Slowly_.  _Tenderly_. She melted against him.

“How are ye feelin?” he asked, stroking the lines of her face with his index finger.

“I feel good, really good,” she smiled, blushing a bit. “A bit achy but I’m not used to so much activity, I guess that’s why.”

“Ye’ve got really good stamina.” Jamie kissed her neck softly, sending delightful shivers all over her body.

“Mmmh,” was all she could respond, closing her eyes again.

His lips travelled down her collar bones. Between her breasts. The tip of his tongue tasting her skin.   
  
Claire ran her fingers through his copper curls, looking down as he rested his head on her chest. His eyes glued to her pierced nipple.

“Did it hurt, Sassenach?” He kissed her breast, his fingers running up and down her side.

“A tad, but it wasn’t too bad. Plus, I was young, reckless, and a bit drunk,” she admitted, making him laugh.

“Cause ye’re really old and no’ reckless anymore, is that so?” he grinned, making her chuckle softly.

“I’m domesticated now,” she quoted him, pulling the covers over them.

“Aye, that’s right,” Jamie leaned up, sealing their lips once more.

“Do ye want some tea?” He stroked her lower lip and she nodded with a smile.

“Then dinna move, I’ll be back in a minute.” He kissed her again and quickly got up, grabbing his boxers on the way out of the room.

“Nice arse!” she remarked, hearing his laugh echo in the hall.

Smiling, Claire laid back and curled herself under the covers. It was indeed still early.  _Too early to get up_. The darkness outside not yet castaway by the dawn of a new day. She closed her eyes briefly, listening to the sound of the kettle boiling and cupboards opening downstairs. At that moment, she realised James Fraser ruined the one thing she had been able to do for most of her life.  _Being alone._

Panic crept on slowly at the thought of him leaving her now. Being abandoned was her biggest fear. The one reason why she had never let anyone close enough to be able to truly access her heart.  _Not even Frank._  And now, with the Scot, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. One she might already be too deep in to be able to escape.

“Tea is served,” Jamie announced happily as he made his way back into the room, boxers back on and holding onto the tray.

Claire opened her eyes, smiling softly. “Thank you. Looks like I’m becoming quite the early bird since I got here.”

Jamie chuckled softly, sitting down on the bed and putting the tray between them. “Ye are, Sassenach.”

She pulled the cover a bit higher, suddenly feeling self-conscious, even if the only light in the room was coming from the little lamp on the bedside table. She took a mug and leaned back, letting the hot porcelain warm up between her palms.

They shared silence once more, leaning against one another and sipping tea. For a while, it felt as if only their two souls existing in the world.  _Without a sound. Without a word._  Just the two of them, together.

“You know…” Claire broke the silence, “I don’t usually sleep with men I barely know.”

“I don’t sleep wi’ lass I barely ken either, Claire.” He stroked her bare arm, smiling. His words making something settle in her stomach.   
  
“No’ that I would judge ye if ye had, I dinna care.”

“There’s nothing wrong with doing that, but I thought you should know.” Carefully, she took a sip of tea and put her mug away and onto the bedside table. She didn’t know what it was about Jamie, but she needed to open her heart to him. She had no other choice.

“Actually…I just got out of a long relationship,” she admitted, looking down as she thought about Frank once more. About the years she gave him, all for nothing.  _Wasted and gone._

“Did he break your heart too?” Jamie lifted her chin up to make her look at him.

“You can’t break something that barely exists,” she said softly, looking at him. His eyes darkened, and it felt as if she could see his own heart breaking at her admission.

“Frank was the first man that truly paid attention to me. He was older, protective, caring, and I was barely nineteen, looking for a home or someone to look after me. That’s what he did. Without him, I wouldn’t have a career — this whole thing was his idea. He was the one who found me in a pub and started it all,” she shrugged, almost amused at the whole thing.

“I’m sorry, I ramble a lot—” she smiled softly. 

“No, please.” He cupped her cheek. “Tell me everythin’ about ye, Sassenach. I wanna know.”

“I lost my parents in a car accident when I was five,” Claire started, noticing Jamie’s jaw tensing at that but he stayed silent, listening to her.

“We lived in Oxfordshire and my parents had no relatives left, so I was sent to an orphanage to potentially be adopted by a new family, but that didn’t quite happen.”

“Why no?”

“I just thought my parents would come back to get me. That maybe I had been a bit too naughty and they were punishing me for a while. So every time a family came to visit, I just did everything I could for them not to pick me. I didn’t want them to take me away, because if they did, then my parents would come back and they wouldn’t know where I am or where to find me.”

“Time passed, and the more it did, the more I realised my parents were not coming back. So I started to count the days until I turned eighteen and would, therefore, be free to go and do whatever I wanted. I started to listen to music, to write songs, and learn to play instruments. That’s how I spent my time because by the time I got old enough, the orphanage was not that much crowded.”

Without a word, Jamie put the tray away and moved closer to her, taking her hand in his own.

She continued, “I moved to London the day after my eighteenth birthday and I met my best friend, Simon. That’s the guy who called you to book the cottage, actually. I worked at a little bookstore in Marylebone during the day, and at night, I sang in questionable pubs in Camden.”

“Six months in, I met this music producer called Frank Randall — and from then, everything snowballed in a way I never imagine it could. I was his little project, I think.”

“Ye’re talented, though, Sassenach. That’s ye, no’ him.” He stroked her arm, looking down at her. 

“Do ye feel like ye own him somethin’?”

Nodding, she moved closer to him, “I think so, yes. I get to do what I love doing every day of my life because of him and even if sometimes, being famous is more a curse than a blessing, I can’t be mad at him for that. At least, not fully. What I’m mad at is myself because when he started to treat me like crap, I stayed. I closed my eyes and I thought I deserved it. That it was fine, that he did it for my own good, and overall, he loved me anyway. But it wasn’t the case. He was constantly bringing me down, cheating on me and God knows what else.”

“You know, you forget your life after a while. The one you had before all this madness and it becomes normality.” 

“Do ye think he ever loved ye?” Jamie asked, careful not to hurt her with his question.

“I think he did, in the beginning. Before he realised he could mold me and do whatever he wanted with me. From then on, something switched with him.” Claire stroked his chin, his scruff rasping against her delicate fingers.

“I don’t want to blame my addiction on him, because he never made me take the drugs. I did that by myself. They were just an escape from everything. The more I lost control, the more I let go, because it was easier than facing the truth that I’m weak.”

“Nah, ye’re no’ weak, Claire.” He shook his head, wrapping his arms around her. 

“No’ after what ye just told me, I canna believe it.” He cradled her head, stroking her curls back.

“The wounds are way deeper than ye care to show and ‘tis fine, this takes time. Ye have it now and ye can start healing them. Healin’ yerself.” Jamie kissed the top of her head as she held him tightly, eyes closed.

“I am no’ letting you go, Sassenach,” he whispered softly and with so much honesty in his voice that she wanted to weep.

Claire slowly looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears, vision blurred. “What is it, between us?”

“I dinna ken what ‘tis, Sassenach,” he admitted, still smiling. “It can be nothing or it can be everything, ye decide and ye dinna have to decide now.”

“I’m just— I’m scared, Jamie. Scared of how I feel about you because it’s unlike anything I have ever felt for anyone before. But…” She let her sentence die, taking a breath.

“But you want to take things slowly, aye.” His lip flicked up, his thumb stroking away a tear that escaped.

“I understand.”

“Thank you.” She rested her forehead against his, cupping his cheeks.

“Just dinna ask me to pretend I don’t like ye.” His remark made her smile grew.

“That’s fine with me,” she whispered against his lips before sealing them.

“Aye, good.” Smirking, Jamie trailed kisses down her neck to her stomach.   
  
He started to give her breast the proper attention it deserved before continuing the marbled pathway down her navel and lower abdomen. Her breath hissing, looking down at him.

“Jamie…” she breathed out, biting her lower lip.

“Do ye want me to stop, Sassenach?” He whispered against her skin, looking up with a mischievous glint floating in his eyes.

“No,” she smiled, running her fingers through his hair as she leaned her head back onto the soft pillow – like a cloud swallowing her. 


	9. The Magic Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, like always. It means so much to me and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, just as much!

The morning was slow and uneventful. Barely any customers walked through the door of Moira’s little shop, which gave Claire time to be alone with her thoughts and to finish the tasks the older lady had given her before disappearing to run errands. The Englishwoman sat by the counter, a warm cup of oolong in one hand, and an old Celtic tale book in the another. 

The book was quite a fascinating melting pot of various stories and legends of the Highlands; yet, her mind couldn’t help but travel back to Jamie. Reluctantly parting with the Scot earlier this morning, the taste of his lips still lingered on hers. A tingling, but pleasant sensation she never wanted to get rid of. Smiling to herself, she took a sip of tea, not paying attention to who had just walked through the door.

“What are ye smilin’ that much about?” Geillis asked cheekily, walking over to the counter.

Claire looked up from her book at once and put it down, smiling even wider at the sight of her redheaded friend. She might not have been here for very long, but Claire knew she had found a lifelong friend. “Hey Geils.”

“I got ye some fudge! Ye’re welcome, no need to thank me.” Smirking, she leaned onto the counter and handed her the packet.

“You’re spoiling me.” She kissed her cheek and opened the bag, a smell of sugar hitting her nostrils.

“Only because ye sang at the festival and everyone’s still shook about it,” Geillis sat on the counter, grinning proudly. “I take credit for it, by the way.”

“I didn’t expect anything less from you,” Claire laughed, disappearing to the back room to grab a tea for Geillis.

“How are ye doin’,  _m'eudail,_?” the Scot asked, rummaging into the pack of fudge to get herself a piece.

Claire walked back towards the counter, holding the mug. She let Geillis’ question hang in the air for a little bit.  _How was she?_  Far better than she had been yesterday after finding the cocaine, she knew that much. And she had Jamie to thank for that.

“I’m fine,” she answered sincerely, sitting on the stool. Claire just realised that she hadn’t stopped smiling.

“You do look good — rested and all,” Geillis remarked with a grin before carefully taking a sip of oolong.

“Do you mean to tell me I looked like shit before?” Claire teased, knowing full well she kind of did.

“Weel…” The redhead grinned, “A wee bit.”

“A bit?” Claire couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, right. A bit. Well, I’m feeling much better, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Geil squeezed her hand, smiling. “I’m glad ye’re feeling better, I really am—”

“ _But_?” Claire’s brow raised up, interrupting her.

“But I’m wonderin’ if that has anythin’ to do wi’ a certain giant Scot…”

Claire felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn’t need to look into a mirror to know they had turned bright red. Plus, her glass face was probably not helping her case. Nevertheless, she acted like she didn’t know what Geillis was talking about. “Jamie? What about him?”

“It’s written all over yer face, Beauchamp.” The redhead hid her triumphant smirk behind her mug while Claire blushed even more.

“It’s none of my business, but I’m happy if ye’re havin’ fun,” she winked.

“And Jamie is a verra good man, I ken that much.” Geillis touched her hand, her words reassuring Claire more than she could even express. She knew Jamie was a good man, that much was clear. But she was scared all the same. She had expressed some of the fears to him that very morning.

“I know,” Claire answered sincerely, smiling softly. What she shared with Jamie was just something for them right now — something sacred she wasn’t ready to share with anyone but him.

“So, once Moira is back, what about some lunch? I’ve been promisin’ ye a roast at the pub for days now!”

“Is that a clever way to blackmail me into spilling some tea about Jamie and me?”

“Oh, cause there’s some tea to spill now?” Geillis wiggled her eyebrows.

Claire laughed, shaking her head, “Fine for the roast, no tea spilling will occur, I’m afraid.”

**********

Claire arrived home around two-thirty in the afternoon, belly full of roast and lips still tasting of whisky. She knew Jamie was working for at least another few hours and went back and forth with the idea of showing up at the factory, which wasn’t very far from her at all.

She finally decided against it and opted to clean the cottage instead. It would surely make the hours pass quickly, she thought, the cheesy notion amusing her more than anything else. Apparently, she was now some giddy teenager experiencing a first crush or something.

Her phone rang some minutes later, the screen lighting up with a picture of Simon. The sound serving as a rude reminder that another life existed outside these walls.  _Away from Scotland and back in London_. A life she didn’t miss at all. _A life she might have to go back to eventually._

Her thumb brushed on the touchscreen of her iPhone and she brought the device to her ear, “Hey stranger.”

“Hi, babe!” Simon answered, the smile in his voice like a blooming flower in her heart. But Claire knew her friend for almost ten years now, and the anxious underlayer of his voice wasn’t lost on her.

Sitting down, she absently played with a loose curls. “What is it, Sim? You sound weirder than you did when you called me three days ago.”

“Nothing bad, really. I mean, it’s just the press is starting to wonder where the hell you are.”

“Well, let them wonder,” she answered simply, leaning back.

“They’ll get tired of it at some point, I’m sure,” she added, reassuring herself more than him with those words. They probably wouldn’t get tired of it, she just hoped they did.

“I guess so, yeah. Well, do you know when you might come back? I really miss you.” Her friend sighed on the other hand of the line.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, darling,” Claire said sincerely.  _She never wanted to go back, that’s all she was sure of right now._

“I really feel good, and the more I think about it, the more I want to buy a place and settle here for when I don’t have to work.”

“Of course you can buy a place.” He was walking around his apartment, she could tell. “You can do anything you want, babe.”

“You’re right,” she smiled to herself, knowing she’d have to make a few decisions about her future at some point. Decisions that Frank wouldn’t make for her this time. That knowledge alone created an indescribable rush of happiness inside her.

“So, enough about me, how are you doing? How are things over there?”

“Your house is piling up with PR gifts and mail, but other than that, everything is fine! I hope you don’t mind, but I helped myself with some skincare goodies you’ve got.”

Claire chuckled, “no, I don’t mind at all. You can have whatever you want, you know that.”

“You’re a doll! How are things over there?”

“Pretty good over here as well. I worked at the shop this morning, and now I’m back at the cottage. Moira, the older lady I told you about the other day, is such a sweetheart. I’m becoming quite familiar with Scottish history and botany, since I spend most of my days with her.”

“I need to meet her! From what you told me, she seems quite like the fascinating character.”

“Yeah, she really is. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turns out to be some sort of witch, she’s awesome like that.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself there, babe. But I can’t wait to see your face again and squish you. I miss you,” Simon said softly.

“I miss you too. I promise I’ll be back soonish. I have to sort things out in London, no matter what. And I’ll have to face Frank at some point.”

“About Frank…”

“Yes?” A knot formed in her stomach, anxiously waiting for what Simon might add next.

“He’s giving interviews about you two. How you fired him and broke his heart at the same time. I think that’s why the press is so curious to know where you are.”

“Frank passing himself as the victim, sounds familiar.” She rolled her eyes, sighing.

“Look, I don’t want to answer anything he says. I don’t care what people think about me or about our relationship. All I care about is my wellbeing right now. And I haven’t felt this well for a very long time. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s happening now that I got rid of Frank.”

“I don’t think, either, babe,” he added.

“Silence is the best response to idiots,” Claire continued. “Let him milk this while he can. I don’t care, as long as I don’t have to deal with him. Soon enough, he’ll find another starlet to manipulate. I’m just glad it’s not me anymore.”

“I’m glad about that too. He never deserved you.”

“Oh well, what’s done is done,” she shrugged, not wanting to dwell on her past regrets. She was free now, that was all that mattered.

The doorbell rang, causing her to frown. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and Jamie would not be off work yet.

“Darling, someone is at the door, I’ll call you back.”

“Is it your sexy landlord?” he asked cheekily, causing her to laugh.

“Hush,” she laughed, getting up. “See you, darling.”

“See you! And have all the fun,” he added mischievously before hanging up.

Claire shook her head, placing her phone on the table before going to open the door. Standing on the porch was, indeed, her landlord.

“Jamie.” She couldn’t help but prevent the delighted smile forming on her lips at the sight of him.

“Long time no see, Sassenach.” The Scot’s lip flicked up, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers to her.

“For yer wee vase. I couldn’t help but notice when I left this mornin’ that it was empty.”

“They’re beautiful! Thank you, Jamie.” She took them, their eyes locking at once.

There was a slight awkwardness between them, one found between two people who didn’t really know what they were to one another. Intimately, they were at a crossroads. They couldn’t simply be friends anymore. They were something else.  _Something more._  Something they had yet to figure out.  _Together_.  

Jamie wanted to kiss her, she could tell that much. She was also aware that he wouldn’t dare to initiate anything, instead letting her decide.

Claire stepped closer and stood on the tip of her toes to seal her mouth with his.  _Softly_. Lips overlapping gently in a chaste kiss that the Scot happily returned. She felt his strong arms wrapping around her waist, enveloping her in a blissful feeling of calmness.

He held her closer, kissing the top of her head. She could feel his smile against her forehead. “How are ye?”

“Good,” she smiled, looking up at him and feeling the heat warming her cheeks.

“I thought you’d be busy with work until six?” she frowned, realising he wasn’t supposed to be here yet.  _Not that she minded._

“Aye, I should have been, but I thought I’d rather spend the rest of the afternoon wi’ ye and I hope ye’d agree to that?”

“Of course.” Smiling, she kissed his cheek.

“Then go grab a coat, Sassenach.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I want to bring ye somewhere.”

“Where?” she asked, her eyebrows raising in question.

“‘Tis a surprise, just grab somethin’ warm to wear,” he grinned cheekily.

“Let me put those flowers in a vase, and then, I’m all yours.”

“I like the sound of that,” he said softly, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and mischievously smiling.

Claire chuckled, shaking her head while he watched her complete her task. Once done, she put the vase on the table and put on her duffle coat and beanie.

“Yer wee hat suits ye so well, Sassenach, I’ll need to make ye one in every colour,” he smiled, holding out his hand to her.

She gladly took it and followed him outside, locking the door behind herself. “All in every colour sounds good to me, my lad.”

“Ye’re going to have to remove yer hat for a bit, though, I’m afraid.” He led her towards the main house, his hand warming hers.

“Why?” she asked, slightly confused, as she followed him. However, the confusion quickly disappeared at the sight of a motorcycle with two helmets waiting for them.

“Because I’m takin’ ye on a ride,” Jamie said simply, bringing her hand to his lips.

Grinning, she walked over towards the motorcycle, taking one of the helmets and putting it on her head after she removed her knitted had, “Can I drive?”

“Weel…” The Scot walked over to her, adjusting the helmet on Claire’s head and kissing the tip of her nose once more. “Ye can drive, Sassenach.”

Without a word, she cupped his cheeks and brought his face closer to hers to kiss him. The warmth of his lips against hers was the most pleasant sensation. She sprung onto the motorcycle and looked at him. “Hop on, then.”

Jamie’s smug smirk didn’t leave his face as he fixed his own helmet to his head and took his place behind her. His arms came around from both sides to wrap around her waist.

Claire started the engine, feeling his warmth radiating against her — making her forget all about the chilly weather.

“I take it ye’ve already ridden one of those before, Sassenach?” he asked, leaning closer to her.

She looked at him for a brief moment and smirked. “No.”

His laugh echoed and his arms tightened around her as she drove them away from Lallybroch and into the Highlands.

Claire didn’t know for how long they drove around, the landscapes taking her breath away for the thousandth time since she arrived in Scotland.

Time became an abstract concept that she wasn’t sure existed anymore. All she knew was that she simply didn’t recall feeling as happy as she did just now. The wind against her face. The adrenaline in the pit of her stomach at the speed of the motorcycle. The reassuring feeling of Jamie so close to her. His voice telling her which path to follow. His lips sometimes stamping the back of her neck, prompting goosebumps all over her skin.

She stopped the engine upon his instruction and turned to look at him, a smile not leaving her face. “Where are we?”

“Craigh Na Dun,” he said softly, the name sounding vaguely familiar to her. “I thought a wee picnic on top of a magic hill would please ye?”

“Magic hill?” she frowned, removing the helmet and shaking her curls. “Oh yes! Moira talked to me about this place.”

“Aye, I ken she did,” he smiled, getting off the motorcycle and helping her. “‘Tis a beautiful place, just a wee bit of a climb.”

“What wouldn’t I do for some food?” she chuckled, getting off in turn. She looked at him and carefully removed his helmet before giving him a kiss.

Smiling, Jamie opened the tailbox and took out a canvas bag containing the food and drinks.

Together, hand in hand, they made their way towards the hill and its circle of standing stones.

“Good Lord.” Widening her eyes, she let go of Jamie’s hand to wander around, the sight almost rendering her speechless.

“Aye, told ye ‘twas beautiful, Sassenach.” He watched her, smiling.

“This place is…” She didn’t look at him, too fascinated by her surroundings to take her eyes away from them for a moment.

“I don’t know, I can’t describe it,” she finished, finally turning to look at him and noticing his amused smile.

“You must think I’m crazy or something of the sorts,” she chuckled softly.

“Nay, I don’t,” he smiled, walking over to her. “It isna called a magic hill for no reasons.”

“I thought it was because those stones are magic?” Her eyebrows rose, head tilting as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Weel it’s what people say, aye. Not that anyone has any proof of it.” He pulled her closer, bending down his face.

“That’s exactly why it’s magic,” she whispered against his lips before sealing them with hers in a long and slow kiss — a kiss that made the hair rise on her arms.

“Do ye believe in magic, Sassenach?” Jamie asked softly, the base of his thumb stroking her cheek slowly.

“I’m starting to.” She held him close, resting her forehead against his.

“Aye, me too.” His lip flicked up, a shy smile forming.

“So how is it supposed to work?” Claire asked, looking around again. “Moira said something about the tallest stone.”

“Touching it would transport ye back in time,” he smirked, reluctantly letting go of her hand as she walked towards the stone in question.

Claire studied it slowly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. A chill ran down her spine as she did, feeling the wind increase around them. She looked at Jamie with a broad grin. “Should I see if it works?”

“Claire…”

“Yes?” She extended her hand, slowly approaching it with closed eyes.

“Claire!” His voice echoed on the hill, like a distant sound.

Her hand rested on the cold granite and she opened her eyes again, looking at Jamie with a childlike expression. “I’m afraid to inform you it doesn’t work.”

“Christ, Sassenach,” he sighed, exasperated with her, and walked over towards her. “Ye scared me—”

“I’m sorry, I have a very questionable sense of humour,” she smiled, taking his hands.

“Aye and ‘tis verra not funny.” He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up.

“It is funny.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, cupping his cheeks.

“Stop talkin’ for one second.” His hands rested on her arse, strongly cupping her buttcheeks.

“Make me.” She dared him.

He didn’t need more to seal their lips again, making her lose any meaning of speech she had. Instead, she melted into him, their mouths merging into one. Dancing a slow dance together. Both almost forgetting the sights around them.

_Almost._

“Can you hear that?” Claire frowned, looking around at the odd sound coming from one of the stones.

“Aye,” Jamie put her down slowly, kissing her cheek. “Dinna move, Sassenach.”

Claire didn’t listen to him and instead followed his steps, both heading closer to the noise. Her eyes travelled down to land on something she wasn’t expecting.

It sat frozen, blending perfectly with its dusky background. He would never have seen it had his hunter’s eye not caught its movement. A tiny kitten, its gray fur puffed out like a ripe milkweed head, enormous eyes wide open and unblinking, almost colourless in the gloom beneath the bush.

“It’s a kitten!” Jamie exclaimed, kneeling down to examine the feline. “Och, ye wee cheetie must be cold, aye?”

Slowly, the tall Scot removed his tartan scarf and wrapped the kitten into it, holding it carefully. The sight melted Claire’s heart altogether at once.

Kneeling down next to Jamie, she smiled and looked at the cat. “Is it all alone?”

“Seems so, Sassenach.” He looked at her, smiling.

“Maybe we should bring it back home?” she proposed, not even realising she talked of Lallybroch as if they lived there together — when in fact, that wasn’t the case.

“Aye, we can have a picnic some other time.” He looked up quickly, holding the kitten carefully.  _“ I feel like there’s a storm comin’ anyway.”_

“Let’s go then.” Smiling, she stood up and waited for Jamie to do the same, her eyes glued to the grey fur ball. Apparently, she was a cat person now. Another discovery made on Scottish soil.

“We should find it a name, dinna ye think?” Jamie looked at her, holding the cat in his arms.

“How exactly do you name a cat? We don’t even know if it’s male or female,” she remarked, smirking.

Jamie carefully lifted the kitten’s tail and examined it, deep in a form of concentration that made Claire giggle softly.

“This a male, Sassenach,” he said proudly. “My mam had a wee cat when I was younger and it was named Adso.”

“Adso? Sounds very cute if you ask me,” she smiled, kissing his lips.

“Adso ‘tis then!”

 


	10. The Bubble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Claire sang is Wonderful Life by Katie Melua: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abGe6uM9Ias

Claire woke up at Lallybroch for the first time since arriving to Scotland. Laying in the middle of the canopy bed in the Laird’s bedroom, she was wrapped in a tartan plaid — one she didn’t recall to have on when she first fell asleep in Jamie’s arms the night before. Everything around her was quiet. The sun was casting a warm light against the wallpaper, almost giving the impression it was actually hot outside. She didn’t know what time it was, exactly, but it wasn’t early.  _That much she knew._

She stirred slowly, hearing purring by the end of the bed.

_The grey furry ball named Adso._

Claire smiled at the sound of the kitten they had found a few days ago, back at the stones. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and remembering she was wearing flannel pyjamas Jamie had procured for her. The cat made its way over to her, clumsily walking on the sheets, and came to rest, curled up against her stomach.

“Hello there.” Smiling, she rubbed the lighter-coloured fur on its head and yawned. “Did you see a big Scot getting up, eh?”

“Not that I expect you to actually answer me, I might as well go find him.” She smiled to herself, the kitten unbothered in her arms as Claire rose out of bed.

She walked downstairs, the wooden floor cracking under the bare feet and Adso purring in her arms, slowly falling back asleep. The house seemed quiet and empty. Claire soon realised it indeed was. Briefly, she wondered where Jamie could have gone — he had told her he wouldn’t work today. The factory was quickly ruled out until another place came to mind.

Claire put Adso on the sofa and went to gather her shoes, coat, and hat before walking outside of the house towards the little cemetery.

Jamie stood where she had found him once before. His head bent down, mumbling words in Gaelic that she didn’t understand. His eyes were closed, and she became aware he couldn’t see her. As she approached closer, she realised his cheeks were damp with tears.

She stopped in her tracks.  _Frozen_. Not knowing if she should continue. or instead, turn around to go back home and pretend she didn’t see him. After a flicker of reflection, she decided to walk the rest of the path towards Jamie.  _Without a word. Without a look._  She simply came to stand next to him and took his hand gently in hers. Their fingers entwining in a gesture of habit, it seemed.

He turned to look at her, eyes reddened by his crying, but he smiled.  _So tenderly._  So sweetly, she wanted to weep alongside him. She wrapped her arm around his waist, curling herself against him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Jamie kissed her head, holding her close, “Ye’re goin’ to get sick out in the cold in pyjamas, Sassenach.”

“I’ve got my coat on,” She smiled, wiping his cheek with her thumb before kissing it.

“How long have you been here?” she asked softly, stroking his back.

“Long enough…I always come here in the mornin’ and I didn’t see the time passin’.” Jamie’s voice was low, full of sadness and sorrow.  _It broke her heart._

“Don’t worry about it,” she soothingly responded, squeezing his hand.

“Come, Sassenach, I dinna want ye to catch a chill, and ye must be famished.” He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her palm.

“You’re not wrong there,” Claire grinned, following him back towards the house.

“What do ye fancy?” he asked, removing his coat once into the kitchen. “Toast? Porridge? Eggs? Anything else?”

“Eggs, thank you,” she smiled, watching him.

“Scrambled? Poached? Fried?”

“Fried is good.” She couldn’t help but chuckle as she kissed his cheek.

“Are ye makin’ fun of me?” Jamie wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck.

“No,” she laughed, stroking his back. “You’re just very cute, laying all the options of food that I could ask you for.”

Lifting her up, Jamie sat her on the countertop and kissed the top of her nose, smiling. He turned away and began his task of preparing breakfast.

“Where is the grumpy bear I met a few weeks ago, huh?” Claire leaned back, smirking, as she observed him cracking eggs into a hot pan.

“I’ve been wonderin’ the verra same thing, Sassenach.” He looked at her with a mischievous glint. “Seems like someone managed to erase all my grumpiness without me realisin’.”

“She must be very good then.”

“Aye, verra good.” Jamie’s lip flicked up in a tender smile as he took her hand in his.

Claire wrapped both her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her in a swift but strong motion. Smiling, she leaned up and sealed their lips.

“How are ye feeling, a nighean?” Jamie asked softly, resting his forehead against hers, his hands resting on her thighs.

“I’m fine.” Her index finger stroked his scruffy chin. “I don’t miss anything, if that’s what you’re asking me. Not right now, anyway, and when I do, I just go and splash some cold water on my face and smoke a cigarette. It seems to do the trick these days.”

“Claire…I want ye to know that whenever ye feel like yer need is comin’ back, I want ye to talk to me about it. I want ye to trust me enough to help ye get through this. I ken ye are a verra strong and stubborn wee thing but I also ken what it’s like and I want to be there for ye, no matter what.”

Her heart squeezed at the softness of his voice; at the honesty and accompanying look in his blue eyes — one of utter and complete adoration, a look she wasn’t used to receiving.

“I have been feeling much better since you came into my life. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, Jamie,” she said softly, stroking his cheek. Claire knew the road to recovery was going to be long and rough. She also knew that having him by her side would make things slightly more bearable, if not easier.

He held her close against his heart, cradling her head of curls. She shut her eyes, listening to the steady beating in his chest. One she hoped might be for her, one day. She could hear the eggs slowly simmering in the pan and the kettle boiling — domestic noises that seemed to be the new normal for her. She had fallen into a sort of routine that she didn’t have before coming to Scotland and meeting this man. It was a routine she never wanted to get rid of.

“Let’s eat, aye?” He looked down at her, placing a tender kiss on the tip of her nose. “I dinna want to ruin my impressive culinary effort by letting the eggs burn.”

Smiling, Claire got off the counter and handled the task of pouring the tea while Jamie plated the eggs and brought everything to the table.

**********

The rest of the morning was slow.  _Relaxed and peaceful._  Spent in the living room, on the numerous cushions, in front of the crackling fireplace. Raindrops fell against the windows and the surrounding walls blocked the chill.

Jamie was partly leaning on the sofa. Claire was curled up, resting her head on his chest, and Adso was at their feet. They read in silence — some economics magazine for him, and a Sally Rooney novel for her. They didn’t know how much time had passed — they didn’t care. They both were in an unbothered bubble, with no want to leave it anytime soon.

The Scot stroked her side with the tip of his fingers, sending a delightful shiver all over her skin. A smile formed on her lips. Claire looked up. He looked down. In sync, their faces came closer to one another, lips overlapping in a tender kiss.

“Do ye ken that ye taste like sweet honey, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, whispering against her lips.

“I wasn’t aware until now,” she smiled in her kiss, sealing their lips once more. “I believe it might have something to do with the honey toast I ate earlier.”

“Maybe ‘tis.” He held her close, kissing her forehead.

Smiling, Claire put her book away and laid her head on his chest once more before closing her eyes. His arms were truly the safest place she had ever found herself in.

“Jamie?” She hesitantly broke the comfortable silence in the room, her stomach tightening as the words formed in her mind. The Scot knew a lot about her, but in retrospect, she didn’t know much about him yet.

“What is it, mo nighean donn?” He looked down at her, brows frowning slightly. He had noted her switch in tone immediately.

“You haven’t really told me about your family all that much. Except for the history of the factory, of course.” She donned a soft smile as she finished her sentence, hoping she wasn’t upsetting him.

Jamie sat up slowly, still holding her close, and looked at her. “I dinna think it’s all too entertainin’, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Claire cupped his cheek. “I simply was curious, I’m sorry.”

“Dinna fash,” he reassured her, kissing her lips. “How many generations back would interest ye?”

“I think your parents will do.” She pulled the plaid over them, watching him.

“Ah, weel, my parents met durin’ their last year at university in Edinburgh. They got married two years later when my mother was pregnant wi’ my brother, William. Two years after that, I arrived, and a year later, they got a divorce.” He hesitated for a few seconds before continuing.

“I havena seen my father since then. I’m afraid there isna much more to ken about my parents as a whole, Sassenach.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

“Ah, tis what it is. My mam raised me and my brother by herself, and we had a verra happy childhood,” he smiled reassuringly at her. “I promise ye. ‘Tis my dad’s loss more than anythin’ else.”

“You really don’t have any news of him?”

“Nay, I dinna. I tried contactin’ him after my mother passed, but he’s living in North Carolina. He never answered back, so I dinna try to reach out again when my brother passed. I made my peace wi’ it now. Though, I must admit — when I was younger, I had a lot of repressed anger about this situation. My brother did as well.”

“Your mother must have been an extraordinary woman.” She took his hand, stroking the back of it with her thumb. “I’m really not surprised that you’re such a great guy.”

“Aye, I hope she’s proud of me, wherever she is.” He smiled softly, resting his forehead against her.

“She is, I’m sure of that.” Claire cupped his cheek again, her whisky eyes locked with his. She realised that Jamie had experienced a fair share of heartbreak, too.

“My mam was our rock. When she died, ‘tis was so unexpected that it just threw me and my brother back into the anger we had when we were younger. We were lost wi’tout her. With no idea of what to do or whom to turn to. William was good at first. Holdin’ everything together for a while, as best as he could. But his demons caught up wi’ him very quickly.”

“Geillis told me what happened to him. I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

“Willie always was a bit more rebellious than me. Always headstrong and stubborn. No’ afraid of anything, except losing my mam. I recall when I was a wee lad, everythin’ I did was in hopes to impress him.” He smiled softly, recalling.

“Ye can say he was my hero. Still is. But when our mother passed, it really broke him. From there, he lost control and went back to his questionable behaviour. Going out late, sometimes not even coming back home. He missed work and acted as if Geillis didn’t exist. It wasn’t a verra good time.”

Claire listened, slowly stroking his cheek. She knew all too well about how drugs could isolate someone from the people an addict loved the most. She knew, on a very personal level, what it did to the body and the brain.

“I just wish…” He let his sentence die, his voice growing quiet and eyes dropping to the floor.

“I just wish I could have done somethin’ more to help him.”

She took his hand, feeling her heart tightening in her chest. “You couldn’t control what went on in his head, Jamie. No matter what you did or what you said, self-destruction can only be controlled by the person experiencing it. Sadly, Willie let it eat away at him. It didn’t mean he was weak, or that you were not a good brother to him. You loved him and you helped him, you did what you had to do. I know you did.”

She couldn’t help but feel guilty. Guilty of letting this man take care of her, like he took care of his brother in the past. Guilty of letting him carry the burden of her own addiction when she was supposed to carry it herself. Guilty of the betrayal she hadn’t yet committed but could happen any time. The Sword of Damocles hanging over her head — and now his, too. She was clean at the moment.

_Who knew how long it would last until she’d spiralled again?_  She was in a perfect bubble here.  _It wasn’t real life._  And she was afraid of what would happen when real life returned and knocked on her door. She was afraid of not being strong enough for herself and for him.

Jamie smiled, a tear escaping his eye, and quickly wiped it. He held her close, kissing her once more. “I’m sorry, I dinna talk about this all that much wi’ anyone…I’m not used to it.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. They’re only tears, darling. Let them spill.” She stroked his cheek. “You have someone to talk with about it now. Whenever you need to, if you do.”

“Aye,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

She snuggled against him, closing her eyes. She refused to think about what could happen between them. She refused to think about all the things that could go wrong. It felt too right to be with Jamie. So much so, she couldn’t even explain it if she tried.

After what seemed like forever, Jamie spoke again. “Sassenach? Can I ask ye somethin’?”

“You can ask me anything.” She looked up at him, slightly confused as to what he was about to ask of her.

“Would ye sing for me, please?”

“Sing for you?” she chuckled, growing shy.

“Why would you want me to do that?”

“Because I keep hearin’ ye humming and singin’ all the time, and I see ye scribbling things in yer wee notebook. I’d like to hear ye sing again. The festival was a week ago, it’s been a while.”

“Oh yes, such a long time,” she grinned, sealing their lips.

“Dinna move,” he whispered against her lips and quickly got up, disappearing from the living room.

“Where are you going now?” she asked loudly, shaking her head with a smile.

Jamie didn’t answer. Instead, he came back a few minutes later, proudly holding an acoustic guitar. “I found this in the attic, and I thought ye might need it.”

“Good Lord,” she chuckled, sitting up.

Smirking, he sat down in front of her and kissed her cheek. “Come on, Sassenach, I ken ye miss it.”

“Is it even in tune?” She took it, smirking away at him.

“I wouldn’t ken,” he laughed, leaning back. “In tune or no’, I canna hear it anyway. I just want ye to play a song for me.”

“You’re really annoying.” She leaned up to seal their lips. “You’re just very lucky you are so cute.”

“Sing, Sassenach,” he whispered against her lips before leaning back again, smiling tenderly.

“Any particular request, then?”

The Scot shook his head, a smile never fading from his lips. “Whatever ye like, as long as ‘tis one of yours and no one has ever heard it before.”

“Fine then. I wrote one the other day, is that good enough for you, lad?”

“Aye.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm.

Claire nodded, making sure the guitar was, in fact, in tune before she started to play the first notes of a song she had been working on since arriving in Scotland and meeting him. Her voice started quietly, her nerves more present now that she was singing only in front of Jamie than they had been when she sang before crowds of people.

_Here I go out to see again_  
The sunshine fills my hair and dreams hang in the air  
Gulls in the sky and in my blue eyes  
You know it feels unfair, there’s magic everywhere

_Look at me standing here on my own again, up straight in the sunshine  
No need to run and hide, it’s a wonderful, wonderful life_

_No need to laugh or cry, it’s a wonderful, wonderful life  
The sun’s in your eyes, the heat is in your hair_

Their eyes locked. His smile grew wider and her anxiety evaporated as her voice grew in intensity. Echoing in the living room, raspy and hoarse. At that moment, Claire finally realised that she was falling in love with this man, and it was the most frightening feeling she’d ever experienced. Not because it was a terrible thing — quite the contrary. But because in the twenty-seven years she’d spent on earth, never before had she let herself open her heart to anyone so completely.  _So_   _freely_. Like she was doing now.

_They seem to hate you because you’re there  
And I need a friend, oh, I need a friend  
To make me happy, not stand there on my own  
Look at me standing here on my own again, up straight in the sunshine_  
  
 _No need to run and hide, it’s a wonderful, wonderful life_  
No need to laugh or cry, it’s a wonderful, wonderful life

Claire finished, her fingers trembling slightly as adrenaline came down. Jamie sat there, looking at her, mouth hanging open. An expression that was both funny and cute.

Clearing her throat, she put the guitar away. “I hope you liked it.”

“‘Tis a beautiful song, Sassenach,” he said softly, pulling her closer. “But I’m quite sure yer voice could make any song beautiful anyway.”   
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck, straddling him and smiling back “I do believe you are biased, Jamie.”

He shook his head, closing the distance between them both. “Uh uh, I’m no’ such thing…”

“Hush it, grumpy bear.” She cut him off, sealing their lips.  

Jamie laid back with her, his hands travelling down her back to cup her plump buttcheeks and give them a good squeeze.

She giggled against his mouth, starting to unbutton his shirt slowly. She was so clogged by the essence of him, she didn’t realise that her phone had started to ring in the other room. And neither did he. Both of them were too busy removing layers of clothes and kissing.

Claire lost herself to him.  _Completely_. Both only there for the other, as if they were the only two people in the world. Forgetting the world around them. Little did she know, their treasured bubble was about to burst.


	11. Back to Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note to say I will post only one chapter of GDW this week but we’ll be back to the regular schedule next week! Thank you guys for reading along!

Jamie’s slow and steady breathing was the only sound in the room and in the short time they had known one another, she quickly realized it was one of the few soothing sounds able to put her to sleep these days – the effect similar to a sweet lullaby.   **  
**

_Not tonight._

Tonight, Claire was restless. Her mind rushing a mile a second. Her heart pounding in her chest. Anxiety creeping on slowly. But for once, these things had nothing to do with an innate need to consume drugs. This time, it was actual panic surrounding what she was supposed to do now that the press had discovered where she was hiding. Not only that, but the press also had plastered pictures of Claire with a mysterious red-haired man on the covers of various tabloids magazines.

After receiving Simon’s messages, she didn’t say a word to Jamie. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, simply because she knew he would most likely flip and push her away. At the moment, that wasn’t something she found herself to be strong enough for.

She turned slowly on her side to watch him, the moonlight casting a blue haze on his gorgeous face. His lip flicked up in a tender smile. It always did when he slept, she had quickly noticed. Her heart broke at the realization she wouldn’t see this sweet face for much longer. She had to return to London and leave Jamie and everything that came with him behind for his own good.  _She was a mess, and she couldn’t become his responsibility._

The peaceful bubble was meant to burst at some point. It always did. It was the way Claire’s life had proceeded since her childhood. She naively believed it would be different this time.  _It wasn’t._

Jamie stirred slowly, his arm coming to wrap around her; and she melted into him, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

“Sassenach?” he whispered, pulling her closer.

“Yes,” she answered faintly, opening her eyes to find him looking at her with such tenderness — it broke her heart for the second time in a matter of minutes.

“Ye canna sleep?” His voice was low as his thumb stroked her cheek slowly.

“It’s nothing,” she lied, smiling softly. She was thankful that it was too dark for him to read her glass face. It would have given her away instantly.

“I was just watching you sleep,” she added, her admission making him smile shyly.

“Was I droolin’ a lot?” he smirked, holding her closer.

Claire shook her head, stroking his scruffy chin with her index finger. “You smile in your sleep. It’s very sweet, actually.”

“I wasna aware I did so.” His thumb grazed her lower lip, legs entwined with hers.

“Now you are.” Claire rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

It was the last time she would feel this good. Wrapped in his arms. Her safe haven. A place where nothing could hurt her. A place she wished she could stay forever, curled against his beating heart.

She had been distant for the rest of the day; while Jamie noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He gave her space, thinking she needed it, while she operated on auto-pilot, changing her mind on what to do every three seconds. She was aware that questions were on his lips but he didn’t word them. She was aware he believed she needed time. But nothing he could do or say would change her mind.

Conflicts roared between her heart and her head — blinding her common sense that was already reduced by the low self-esteem she had of herself.

“Jamie?” she whispered softly, nuzzling the crook of his neck and letting his burning skin warm her bones.

“What is it?” The Scot stroked her mess of curls back, resting his chin on her head.

“I haven’t thanked you for all you did for me since I arrived.”

“Ye thanked me plenty of times, Sassenach.” He lifted her chin to have her look at him, the features of his face visible enough for her to see his smile.

“You’re a good man, James Fraser,” she added, cupping his cheeks. She felt a lump forming in her throat, one she tried to ignore by biting on her bottom lip gently.

Before he had the chance to answer — _to ask her what was going on_ — she closed the distance between them and sealed their lips for a long time. She didn’t realize she was holding onto him for dear life, but Jamie did and pulled her on top of him. His hands travelling down her body and sliding under her long t-shirt to cup her buttcheeks.

“Sassenach,” he rasped against her lips, slightly breathless. “I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe.”

Claire froze, looking down at his face. It seemed that the moonlight had brightened, showing his features perfectly. Encapsulating how handsome he actually was.  _Sharp jaw. Straight nose_. Cat-like eyes — cobalt-coloured, piercing her soul.  _His face was her heart._

She brought herself to move on her side, her auburn eyes still very much locked with his, and didn’t say a word. Instead, she kissed him, once more — a tender kiss she had never given anyone before. One she would never give anyone again, either.

Her hand dropped between them, making its way into the inside of his boxers to grab a hold of him. He stilled, his breath catching in his throat.

Agonizingly slowly, she started to rub his length, throbbing between her fingers. Jamie’s head shot back, his fist grabbing the sheet. It was all the encouragement she needed.

“Claire…”

“I want to watch you,” she whispered against his lips, pulling her head back before he could kiss her.

She began to pump him in her hand, back and forth with steady strokes. His hands on her arse dug in, imprinting her flesh with the touch of his fingernails. He looked at her, a mixture of lust and awe floating in his eyes.

“Oh God… _Oh Claire_ ,” he groaned, his forehead leaning against hers. His body arching under her touch.

All she wanted was to have him surrender himself to her one more time. All she cared about was having him lose himself to her. Her strokes increased, feeling him harden even more.  _He was close. So close._

Claire watched as he stilled, his lips parted in ecstasy. She needed to memorize all the features of his face in case she forgot them, even if such a thing would be impossible.

She kissed him then, capturing his lips with hers and fighting the tears about to spill from her eyes.

********  
**  
When Claire woke up that morning, her heart was heavy, like a piece of steel trapped in her ribcage. A piece she’d have to carry around for the foreseeable future instead of her most vital organ.

Jamie had woken up a while ago — she had heard him and pretended to still be asleep, not wanting to have to face him in the daylight. He had kissed her tenderly, careful not to wake her. A kiss still lingering on her lips with a tingling sensation she never wanted to get rid of. He covered her and whispered Gaelic words she didn’t understand. He had tiptoed out of the bedroom, the wooden floor cracking under his feet.

The last sight she had of the Scot was from the back of his head. His flaming curls — a peculiar shade of red she had never seen before.

She sat up reluctantly, grabbing the t-shirt to put it back on. She looked around, memorizing the blue room.  _The Laird’s room_. She almost felt nauseous upon glancing at the sight of her in the mirror. A sight she quickly avoided, her stare running away from her reflection.   
  
She didn’t bother with a shower. Instead, she dressed slowly, as if taking her time would bring a change of heart. A change of decision that she would stay in Scotland. With Jamie. But it didn’t. She was determined to go back to London. To leave him alone, untangled in her mess. She had no other choice, no matter how conflicting it was for her to leave this man behind.  _She had to protect him._

This was for his own good, she repeated to herself more times than she cared to count.

All she was sure of was that he’d be better off without her. It was better to go now than to wait for him to become truly attached. Little did she know, his feelings were as deep for her as hers were for him. She was blinded by her own image of herself. By her fear of being abandoned once again. Claire didn’t realize she was the brake to her own happiness, especially in this case.

She made her way back towards the cottage maybe thirty minutes after waking up. Though time had become an abstract concept and she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. The only tangible thing was the smoke burning her gullet while she puffed on yet another cigarette to calm herself down.

She threw the cigarette end onto the grass and walked inside the place she had called home for the last month. She looked around, the lump still in her throat, increasing with each passing minute.  _Tears threatening to spill._

She took a long breath, shutting her fists to make her hands stop shaking. It felt suffocating to be here now. She had to leave quickly — while she found the strength for it, and before Jamie could realize it. It would take much more strength than she had to face him at this point. To tell him she was leaving forever.

_She was a coward._  Not because she couldn’t say it to him directly, but because she knew she couldn’t say no if he asked her to stay. That was the reason she was running away. James Fraser could ask anything of her, and she would say yes.

Claire left a note to him on the table by the door — a badly scribbled note she managed to write with a shaky hand and no tears spilling on the recycled paper. In the living room, she left the half-finished scarf, the knitting needles, and the yarn he had given her. She left everything she didn’t have before arriving here and packed only her belongings into her battered leather suitcases in the room. Except for the hat he made her. She packed that carefully into the smaller bag.

Her task was almost completed when a knock came at the door, sending a rush of panic through her entire body.

“Shit,” she mumbled, unable to move. It couldn’t be Jamie.  _Please don’t let it be Jamie. Please let it be Jamie._

She couldn’t bring herself to move to the door, instead letting another knock go. And another. Until she heard Moira’s voice on the porch, calling for her.

“Claire? Are ye home, dearie?”

Realizing it wasn’t the redheaded Scot, her heart squeezed both at the relief and disappointment.

The older woman knocked again, and Claire had to open. She didn’t know how, but she was aware Moira knew she was home, somehow. She couldn’t avoid it.

She collected herself, walking down the stairs slowly, still hoping the older woman would turn around and leave. But in the short time she had been in Scotland, Moira had become like a grandmother to her. And grandmothers were not the kind to leave without an explanation.

Her hand lingered on the doorknob for a little while, trembling to open. She counted the seconds in her head, seconds that seemed longer than an eternity.

Moira knocked once more, like a wake-up call for the Englishwoman. “Claire?”

Slowly — _too slowly_  — she turned the knob and opened the door.

“Mornin’, lass!” she exclaimed happily, winking.

“Hello,” she said softly, forcing a smile as best as she could. She wasn’t doing such a bad job, as the older woman didn’t seem to notice. At least, that’s what she thought.

“I ken ye’re no’ suppose to come in the village today but since I was aroun’ here I thought I’d bring ye the book I promised ye—”

“Oh…right, the book,” Claire answered before she could finish, remembering their conversation of a few days back.

“Can I come in?” Moira inquired, raising her eyebrows at her.

“Of course.” She stepped aside, letting the older woman make her way inside the cottage, and closed the door behind them. Claire didn’t notice her body had started to shake.

“Did I come at a bad time, lass?” She turned around, eyebrows still raised.

“No.” Claire watched her, feeling the green eyes looking at her suspiciously.

“It’s just that…I have been called back to London for a work emergency, and I must be on my way soon.”

“Oh, I see,” Moira nodded but smiled. “Weel, I do hope ye come back to visit us again verra soon. But I’m sure ye will.”

“Of course I will,” she lied, smiling softly.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything, Moira. I loved helping you at the shop. I’m sorry I have to leave so hastily.”

“Ye’re always welcome here, dearie.” She walked over to her, wrapping her arms around Claire and holding her close.

“Ye ken that, aye? ‘Tis yer home.”

Nodding, Claire smiled sincerely this time, even if she felt another piece of her heart detaching. “I know. I’m very thankful for that, for meeting you all.”

Moira cupped her cheeks, the warmth of her skin a contrast to Claire’s. “And I ken a certain lad willna be too pleased if ye dinna come back.”

“I’ll miss him too,” she admitted quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor. “A lot,” Claire added, her voice cracking.

“Take good care of yeself, eh?” Moira lifted her chin, looking at her.

Claire nodded again, touching her hand. She wasn’t only leaving Jamie behind. She was leaving Moira, Geillis. People who in such a short time had become like a family to her. A family she never had and one she always yearned for.

“Weel, I’ll let ye finish packin’ now and all,” the grey-haired woman smiled softly, patting her arm.

“Right.” Claire swallowed her tears and managed a smile while Moira walked back towards the front door.

Moira opened the door and turned to look at Claire again. “See ye verra soon,  _mo chàil milis_.”

_Mo chàil milis. My sweet one._

Before she could answer back, she realized the green eyes had noticed the note addressed to Jamie on the table. Claire didn’t move, instead holding onto her sleeve for dear life. Praying she wouldn’t mention it.

“Two souls don’t find each other by accident, Claire.”

Slowly, her eyes travelled up to look at Moira — the weight of the older woman’s inquisitive stare pressing against her chest, suffocating her.

“Never forget that,” she added softly, her lip flicking up into a kind smile.

Moira didn’t wait for her to answer. In a second, she had disappeared behind the wooden door — her words echoing in the cottage, and in Claire’s head.

Claire gathered the little courage she had left to call a cab and finish packing her bags. Shutting any thoughts out of her brain and functioning on auto-pilot. She felt five years old all over again. Like the morning she had to leave her family home in Oxford to go to the orphanage. Home, once more, ripped from her.

This time, though, it was different. She could have stayed. She could have ignored her life, her behaviour, and her state of mind and stayed. For a time, she would have been happy.  _She had been_. For a time, everything would have been perfect — it had been. But if Claire had learned anything from her life so far, it was that for her, happiness never lasted very long.

Except this time, she wouldn’t wait for everything to come crumbling down. She wouldn’t wait for Jamie to realize he deserved someone better. She’d be a step ahead and flee before he could recognize such a thing. If she stayed, he would end up leaving her. That belief was firmly planted in her head.

Claire didn’t turn to take a last look at Lallybroch when she walked away and towards the cab waiting for her. She didn’t let tears spill, and ignored the suffocating feeling of her rib cage tightening.

It wasn’t until the sight of Lallybroch slowly disappeared behind the car window that Claire realized she’d never come back. That all she had now were memories. And that would be all she ever had.  

That was when the tears started to escape her, and they didn’t stop. Vision blurring, she heard the last piece of heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem. 


	12. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to two chapters a week! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and enjoy <3

It had been a week since Claire disappeared, like a ghost, away from the Highlands. A week of hiding in her house on Primrose Hill. Avoiding the press, her responsibilities, and any thoughts of Jamie she might have. The Scot didn’t know where she lived nor her phone number. He had no means of contacting her — not that she thought he would. _It was better this way. **  
**_

Time was a blur, passing in a slow and agonizing haze.  _Minutes turned into hours. Hours into days. Days into weeks._ She was tired. Exhausted by a feeling of sadness wrapped around her. Tired of carrying a piece of steel where her heart was supposed to be. Weary from thinking about Jamie constantly.

She heard his voice:  _soft but strong, like a ripe peach._  She smelled his perfume:  _musk mixed with patchouli._  She felt his touch on her skin _— gentle and delicate._ Whatever she did, wherever she went, he was there. Like a shadow lurking to remind her what she had lost —  _what she had ruined_ , and what she’d never be able to have again.

Leaving Jamie had been the most difficult decision of her life. It was a decision she knew was necessary to make before he ended up breaking her heart. She naively thought that doing it herself would hurt less, but it didn’t work that way.  _Breathing was hard. Sleeping was daunting — too afraid to see him in her dreams. Functioning was painful._ She had found the other piece of her soul — a piece she had subconsciously been searching for over the course of her entire life. Living without it seemed to be an impossible task, but there was no turning back.

_It was for his own good, she repeated to herself all day long._

Even returning to London was odd. This house was supposed to be home.  _Her home._  But it didn’t feel like it. It never did, and it never would. Home wasn’t a place to her — it was a person.

_Home was Jamie, but that home was lost._

Claire toyed with the idea of calling him more times than she cared to count. She had dialed his number many times. Eyes glued on the screen, fingers shaking. Each time, she found the courage to call him before hanging up immediately — before it even had the chance to ring. _What would be the point?_ Jamie must be hating her, anyway.

Guilt ate away at her.  _Regrets_.  _Sadness_. All these things mixing together to create a dangerous cocktail inside her heart, waiting for the last drop to rise to the surface and explode.

She buried herself into her work and music. Writing songs  _— songs inspired by Jamie, she painfully realized._ But nothing helped matters much.  _How could one live without a heart? How could one rip it out of their chest deliberately, without thinking it’d matter or that it wouldn’t hurt this much?_

It was only because Simon had stayed with her constantly that Claire didn’t give in to her old demons. However, she remained painfully aware she’d give in as soon as the last bough broke. It was only a matter of time.  _The clock ticking hourly in her ears._

“Babe, are you not even going to eat that?” Simon inquired, looking at Claire who was laying on the opposite sofa, ignoring the plate of pasta on the coffee table.

“I’m not really hungry,” she answered, eyes glued to the book she had in front of her.

“You haven’t been hungry since you came back from the Highlands,” he sighed, moving closer towards her.

Ignoring him, Claire bit the inside of her cheek at the mention of Scotland and pretended to continue reading.

“Claire?”

“I had cereal for breakfast,” she mumbled, still not looking at him.

“You really aren’t going to tell me what happened with the hot landlord, then?”

“His name is Jamie and there’s nothing to talk about, okay? It was a fling and it’s over now.” She looked at him, adjusting her round golden glasses. Every time she pronounced his name, she felt the spade cut deeper into her heart. As if a needle was desperately trying to puncture it.

“I’ve never seen you like this – ”

“Like what?” she asked, as if she wasn’t already fully aware of what Simon was saying. Getting up, she put the book away and walked towards the shelf to grab her pack of cigarettes.

“Claire, I’m just trying to help here,” he sighed, getting up in turn.

She didn’t want his help. She didn’t want anyone’s help. She didn’t think she needed it, even if she knew she did.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, at last, pausing to light a cigarette. “About him,” she breathed out quietly, the confession slipping away from her lips alongside the smoke.

“Come here.” Simon wrapped his arms around her carefully, like he was holding a wounded bird.

Closing her eyes, Claire rested her head against his chest and let the tears stream down her cheeks. She sobbed silently in his arms, gripping his t-shirt.

“You don’t have to talk to me about it,” he whispered, stroking her hair back. “But don’t pretend you are fine, because I have never seen so much sadness floating in your eyes, Claire.” He lifted her chin to look at her. “And your eyes are known to be pretty nostalgic, already.”

“It hurts,” she croaked out, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. That admission alone was a long time coming, but it felt liberating to finally state it out loud. “It fucking hurts, and I did it to myself. I don’t have the right to regret it now.”

“That’s where you’re actually wrong,” Simon protested, stroking her hair back. “It’s never too late to fix a mistake, because that’s just what it is. You didn’t want to leave Scotland, you told me yourself. You were happy and at peace there. You met a great guy, and everything was fine until the press snitched.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Simon,” she sighed, going to sit down. Leaning back, she took a long hit of her cigarette and let the smoke burn her gullet.

“You believe he hates you—”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about him.” Claire opened her eyes again and looked at her friend. Simon saw the plea floating in their whisky colour. He didn’t say another word, simply nodded and came to sit next to her. Silently, he took her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked softly, looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she smoked, resting her head on his shoulder. She was lost — for the first time in her life, truly and completely lost.

“I guess I’ll wait for the numbness to leave, and I’ll make music. That’s all I know how to do. Like everything, it will pass and time will heal.”

“Claire I want you to start believing you deserve to be happy.”He continued, “I want you to start believing that because you’re entitled to it, like everyone else. I know you believe you’re not. I know you think you’re doomed to be alone forever. Not worthy of anyone’s love but your own, but it’s not the case.”

She didn’t answer, staring at the fireplace in front of them. She was aware she deserved happiness — she was simply afraid of it.  _Afraid it’d be ripped away from her._

Simon kissed the top of her head, holding her close for a long time.

“What if I go grab some groceries and cook you a nice dinner? You can’t say no to homemade pizza and some doughnuts from St. John, can you?”

Looking up, she smiled softly and shook her head. “No, I can’t say no to that. I’ll go and have a bath while you’re out.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head once more and stood up.

“I promise you I won’t take too long, and we can even watch Hitchcock’s movies while we eat later.”

“You’re spoiling me.” Her smile grew, thankful for the way Simon took care of her. For the way he refused to let her sink into sadness.

“You’d do exactly the same for me, babe,” he winked, kissing her hand.

“And you have, many times.”

Nodding, Claire smiled at her best friend and watched disappear into the hallway.

**********

_Old habits die hard._

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, but Claire couldn’t stop thinking about drugs. It wasn’t something she could switch on and off when the need took her. It was simply how her brain worked.  _Addicted_. It needed something to be fulfilled. She had managed it since coming back from Scotland. She had fought against her own demons, sticking her head under the freezing water or smoking a cigarette whenever she had the slightest craving for cocaine.

But it was hard.  _Bloody hard, even._  She spent most of her nights laying awake — eyes damp with thoughts of Jamie, and a little voice begging her to get something into her bloodstream to forget. To run away from herself, even for just a little while.

It wasn’t called a trip for nothing. It was a journey  _— from numbness to complete euphoria._  A trip to a place where nothing seemed to hurt. Nothing at all. The brain was tricked into believing that what she felt in the moment was reality. A tempered version of it, anyway.  _A softer version._  Where nothing was too bad or even painful. Where memories were forgotten for a while and didn’t exist. A feeling of invincibility —  _of peacefulness. Like floating on a stream of electricity._

Claire had known that keeping some drugs in her bedside table wasn’t the smartest idea. She knew that dangling a carrot right in front of her nose when she had such weak disposition was awful. She had known, yet she had not done anything to remove the temptation.

Slowly, she opened the drawer and removed the few items lying around —  _hand cream, a book, a lighter._ She then took out a small tin box, her fingers shaking while doing so, and looked inside. The plastic pouch wasn’t much bigger than her thumb. The white power glowing inside of it.  _Calling her. Taunting her._

Claire closed her hand, feeling her heartbeat in her palm. She held the pouch tightly and went back into the bathroom, where the steam of her bath was still very much permeating throughout the room. However, she wasn’t warm _— quite the contrary._ She had started to shake and didn’t even notice it, too busy fighting what her brain was trying to tell her.

She didn’t know for how long she stood by the sink, staring at herself. Whisky eyes full of ghosts. Damp curls dripping on her shoulders and stamping her t-shirt. Skin so pale, it almost looked like porcelain, or like the powder in her hand. She opened the pouch without looking at it and emptied its contents into the sink before opening the tap.

Finally, her eyes lowered and she looked at the streams of water erasing her weakness down the drain, bringing along with it a feeling of relief.

A noise downstairs rudely took her out of her own trance, and she realized Simon must have returned. Quickly, she tossed the pouch into the trash can and dried her hair with a towel before tying it back into a bun to let her curls dry.

Claire made her way downstairs slowly, not quite believing she had been able to get rid of the drugs by herself without taking any. A smile was forming on her lips at the accomplishment.

A smile that quickly disappeared when the sight in the living room reached her eyes.

“ _Frank_.”

The Englishman stood by the fireplace, dressed in his usual attire of dark trousers and a white shirt. His blazer hanging on the velvet chair next to him. He hadn’t changed much since the last time she saw him. The lines on each side of his face. His wide hazel eyes observing her.  She understood why a nineteen-year-old girl would fall for such a man. Even more so when he had beautiful and reassuring words to whisper in her ears after a night spent between the sheets.

Except she wasn’t nineteen anymore, and the sight of Frank Randall disgusted her more than anything else.

“Claire,” Frank answered in a deep and low voice, his tone sweet and gentle.

“How did you get inside?”

“Well, nice to see you again too.” His lip flicked up, almost amused.

“How did you get in here?” She asked again, biting the inside of her cheek. He used to live here, but Simon had made sure to have the locks changed while she was in Scotland.

“Do you know how many times I forgot my keys and I had to sneak in through the back window while you were asleep and I spent the night away?” His eyebrows shot up in question, her stomach turning at his confession.

“What do you want?”

“I only wanted to see you, darling.” He walked slowly over towards her.

“Now that you’re done hiding in Scotland, I thought it was a good time to have a conversation.”

“During our last conversation, I told you I never wanted to see you again nor have anything to do with you. It still stands, Frank.” Claire controlled the anger in her voice as best as she could. She didn’t want to lose her temper on him, but it would prove to be harder than she thought, simply because she had almost ten years of repressed feelings against this man.

“You were mad at me then.”

“I don’t care that you cheated on me, you know? I used to care, because I thought I was in love with you, but I wasn’t. I was in love with the idea of you. Of everything you promised me and everything you said I could be with you by my side. But I don’t care about all this, anymore. I thought I needed you, Frank. Truth is, it’s the other way around.”

“Oh, Claire.” His laughter echoed throughout the room. “That’s exactly where you are mistaken, my darling.”

Frank stood close to her, but she didn’t move.  _Didn’t flinch_. Even when his index finger traced the lines of her cheek.

“Without me, you were nothing; and without me, it’s only going to be a matter of time before you go back to sleeping under a bridge.”

“That’s all you got? You used to be way better at finding words you could use to break me,  _my_ _darling_ ,” Claire spat out, her eyes glued on him. “More subtle, too.”

“I’m only stating the truth. I don’t know where you got this idea in your pretty little head that I was out to break you? I only ever wanted your happiness and your well-being.”

It was her turn to chuckle now, rolling her eyes at his audacity.

“ _My_  happiness and  _my_  well-being, entertained by  _my_  money. Yeah, you saw me in a pub and decided I was talented enough to invest your time in. To make me something. Something you could control and mold the way you wanted. You found me to be naive enough to follow you everywhere. To listen to everything you had to say, like it was the holy word. But I don’t owe you anything, Frank. Nothing at all, because my success was only because of me, not because of you.”

“Oh, Claire,” he smirked, cupping her cheek. “Is it the red-haired highlander that made you grow bold all of a sudden? Scotland changed you, it seems.”

“That is none of your fucking business,” she answered through gritted teeth, her heart starting to pound in her chest.  _Her chest starting to hurt._ Jamie was her weak spot and Frank knew it.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You sent the photographers to Scotland…”

“Ah,” Frank smirked.

“Did you really expect me to wait around until you would come back? Come on, Claire. I really thought you knew me better than that. I know you, at least.”

“No, you don’t.” She pushed his hand away, ignoring the ache in her chest. The mixture of anger and disgust she had towards this man and towards herself for falling into his trap all those years ago.

“And where is he, uh? You ran away because you were scared. I knew you would, and he didn’t even follow you. It must hurt, doesn’t it?” he pouted, looking at her.

“Although I’m not too surprised he doesn’t care about you that much, I really thought he would stick around for the money.”

“I guess he wasn’t like you,” Claire managed to breathe out, trying to shut out the pain from thinking about Jamie. A cold sweat erupted on her skin and made her shiver.

“Guess not.” Frank stroked her cheek, leaning closer to her. “You look well, you know.”

“Get out.” She pushed him away, realizing her patience wasn’t infinite. “Get out or I’ll call the police, Frank.”

“Fine.” His hands dropped to his side, his smirk still stamped on his disgusting face. He grabbed his jacket and turned his gaze towards her again.

“You know what, Claire? You won’t need me to ruin your life, after all. You’re doing a fine job of that by yourself already.”

Those were the last words she heard before Frank made his way out of the house, the heavy front door shutting behind him.

Claire took a long breath, all of a sudden finding it difficult to breathe. A dizziness struck her. Her chest tightening under her t-shirt. A pain in her arm coming up towards her neck. She pressed against her shoulder, trying to get rid of the sensation, but it didn’t help.

The more time passed, the more it ached and the less air she could inhale.  _The less she could control the way her body responded._ Claire realized she was having a heart attack. But before she could reach for the phone, she collapsed onto the living room floor.


	13. Beating On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Enjoy <3

_She was dead. **  
**_

Everything around her was blinding white, and there was this soft rushing sound — like the wings of angels. She felt peaceful and bodiless.  _Free of terror. Free of rage._  Filled with a quiet happiness.

But her throat hurt like hell. And a constant beep resonated in her left ear, the sound coming and going with each passing second.  _Her left arm was heavy. Her chest aching._  If this was supposed to be the afterlife, she didn’t want it.

Claire opened her eyes slowly  _—almost a herculean effort thing to do._  The sight she saw confirmed to her that, after all, she might as well be either dreaming or dying. There was no way Jamie could be here, asleep and curled up in the chair next to her bed. She was hallucinating, and she realized her pounding headache wasn’t helping her condition much, either.

A second later, her eyes shut again and she let the soothing sound of his breathing rock her back to sleep. She had no idea how long she dozed off for. It might have been days.  _Hours_.  _Or_ _just_   _minutes_. All she knew was that when she opened her eyes again, no one was asleep in the seat next to her bed, her weak heart pinching at the realization.

She had no idea how she ended up at the hospital. Or when, for that matter. All she remembered was her talk with Frank. Everything after that was too hazy  _— too blurry —_   to grasp from her subconscious.

Claire stirred slowly, feeling the rough sheet against her legs and a cold shiver sliding under it. She wanted to move but was unable to at the moment. Exhaustion pressed down on her as if a truck ran over her. She figured it’d be best to wait for a nurse to come in, or maybe Simon. After all, he was probably the one who found her and called an ambulance. He was surely here,  _somewhere_.

Every time she heard footsteps approaching in the hall, she braced herself to see her friend and to explain why she ended up going into cardiac arrest at twenty-seven. Every time, however, those footsteps walked past her door and didn’t come in. Each time, she relaxed and shut her eyes again. Mostly, she did it to try and capture the image of Jamie one more time.  _Maybe one last time._   

Sighing at the unsuccessful attempts, she opened her eyes again, scanning her surroundings for some water. She spotted the water bottle on the little table next to the bed and moved slightly, trying to reach for it with her right arm.

“Let me get ye a glass, Sassenach.” Jamie’s voice echoed in the room, drowning out the beeping sound of the machine next to her.  

She froze, her eyes still glued to the bottle. She didn’t dare look at him —she was too afraid to realize he wasn’t really here.  _Or that he actually was._

Slowly, very slowly, Claire turned her eyes towards him. If she could have, she would have probably run out of the room. Ashamed at her behaviour. Ashamed of what he might be thinking of her. Simply ashamed of leaving him without more than a note. He looked…pitiful. And exhausted. He was watching her, a mixture of relief and fear floating in his blue eyes.

“Jamie.” Her voice was low and croaked, likely due to her aching throat from the hours she spent intubated upon her admittance into the emergency room.  

Without a word, the Scot opened the bottle of water and poured some into a plastic cup. His scent of patchouli and musk hitting her nostrils served as another indication he was in the room.

She leaned on her right arm, sitting up slightly to drink from the cup he was holding up in front of her mouth. “Careful when ye drink.”

“Thank you,” she managed to mumbled once she had drunk. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes still not meeting his.

Jamie put the cup away and sat down on the seat next to the bed. She could still feel his eyes on her — something she ignored while she leaned back and shut her eyes. She wanted to tell him so many things. Things she had never told anyone before. Things that terrified her. Things he’d probably wouldn’t believe. So she stayed quiet, letting the beeping of the monitor, interspersed in the silent air, entrance them in a gentle lullaby.

“When did you get here?” she asked softly, slightly breathless and still very much weak.

“Ye need rest.” He touched her hand, his skin warm. A contrast to her own. “I will go tell the doctor ye’re awake.”

“No need,” came from another male voice near the door.

Claire opened her eyes again to look at who had spoken. From the white lab coat and the stethoscope dangling around his neck, he was most likely the doctor.

“Miss Beauchamp, I’m Doctor Joe Abernathy,” he introduced himself, smiling kindly. He had an American accent, which she noted immediately. And he seemed very calm.

“I’ve been in charge of you since you were admitted into the emergency room two days ago. Thankfully, when you arrived, we were able to stabilize you rather quickly and since your arteries are not clogged, we had no need to bring you into surgery. We did, however, have to bring you back once, which might explain the burning sensation you’re experiencing on the skin of your chest at the moment.”

She listened, not commenting. Instead, she wished that the bed could swallow her whole so she could disappear from this room and her visible embarrassment.

Doctor Abernathy continued, “you’re stable now and since you’re young and in rather good health, your recovery should be quick. We’re not too worried about this, but what you have is called a cardiac arrhythmia, which was caused by—”

“By cocaine,” she finished his sentence for him and nodded.

“We just want to ensure your recovery is efficient and that your addiction is taken care of so it doesn’t happen again,” he added, walking towards the bed.

“I know you do, doctor. So do I.” She managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“What exactly is an arrhythmia, doctor?” Jamie asked, getting up from the seat.

“An arrhythmia happens when the heart’s electrical system is disrupted. There are multiple conditions caused by drug intake, and this one is one of them. Also, cocaine multiplies the risk of heart attack by at least a factor of twenty-four,” Joe explained to the Scot while Claire observed both men standing next to her bed.

“I’ll let you rest some more, but once you feel a bit more energized, we’ll talk about potential rehab facilities.” He turned to look at her. “How does that sound for you?”

“Good,” she smiled softly, nodding. “Thank you.”

Doctor Abernathy returned a kind smile and gave Jamie one too before walking out of the room.

“Are ye sure ye want to go to rehab, Sassenach?” The Scot asked, looking down at her.

“It’ll only be for a few weeks. A month, at most. I think it’s for the best,” she said, finally looking at him again.

“Did you take any after ye came back to London?” he asked, frowning slightly. His question was careful. Spoken slowly, as if he was almost afraid of the answer.

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t touched it since the day before I arrived in Scotland, Jamie.”

“Aye, good.” He slowly sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his.

“What are you doing here?” She looked at their linked hands, her heart squeezing at the sight. She knew she had missed him, but only now did she realize just how much.

“Simon called me to come to London a few days ago.” He stroked her hand.

“He came to get me from the train station, and when we arrived at yer house we found ye on the floor.”

“You came before I got to the hospital?” Claire frowned, holding his hand tighter.

“Aye, I found ye and called the ambulance. Well, wi’ Simon, too.” He reached to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her face gently.

“Simon has gone back to the house to rest a bit. He’s been here wi’ me all this time and the seat wasna big enough for both of us. I told him I would call him whenever ye finally woke up.”

Closing her eyes, she melted against his touch — finding a solace she had been missing for the past week.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked softly, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Aye,  _verra_.” His lip flicked up into a smile — one erasing all her worries at once.

“‘Tis not very nice to scare me like this, Sassenach. Please dinna do it again.”

“I promise I won’t. I’m sorry…,” She touched his cheek, caressing his scruffy chin with her index finger. “About everything.”

“Claire, we dinna have to talk about it now. I dinna want ye to get upset wi’ yer heart—”

“I want to talk about it,” she reassured him, looking at him.

“Just tell me one thing.” He pushed her hair back, looking at her.

Claire watched him, waiting for whatever question or plea he had for her.

“Do ye want me to go?” His voice was a whisper. So low she almost didn’t hear it. And the hurt in his eyes broke her heart altogether once more.

“No,” she breathed out, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss the back of it. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Then tell me why you ran away from me.” It was a pleading, not a question. At that moment, she realized just how much she had hurt him by disappearing the way she did.

“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice still low.

“I was afraid after those photos of us came out. Afraid you’d leave me, so I simply thought I’d beat you to it. I’m sorry for the way I did it. You deserved better than that but I panicked. And when I panic, I run away. I always do.”

“Ye just left me Claire, without barely an explanation. I came home that afternoon and ye were gone.” His voice was deprived of any hint of anger or resentment, but it still cracked.

“Do ye understand how scared I was of something happenin’ to ye? I looked all around the estate and the village for ye until I found the note in the cottage and I found out ye had gone back to London for good.”

“I wanted to protect you—” she protested but he interrupted her.

“Protect’ me from what, exactly?” he asked softly, stroking her cheek with the base of his thumb.

“From me.” She looked down at her hands, ashamed.

A tear escaped her, strolling down her cold cheek, and Jamie leaned down to carefully kiss it away. She closed her eyes, feeling a tingle on her skin.

“Did it ever occur to ye that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need protectin’ from ye?” He looked at her, whispering softly.

“That maybe I was fine bein’ the one protectin’ ye, instead? No, it didn’t, and ye didn’t care to ask, either. Ye just ran away thinkin’ that it was better for both of us.”

“I don’t need you protecting me, Jamie,” she lied, biting on her lower lip and hoping her glass face wouldn’t give her away this time.

“Stop pretendin’ ye dinna need anyone, Sassenach.” He lifted up her chin to make her look at him. Their eyes locking. She knew she was powerless when it came to Jamie Fraser. Powerless to fight him on a subject like this one — because truth be told, she knew she needed him.

“It’s fine to need somebody. One thing that is for certain, Claire, is that I need ye,” Jamie whispered, the honesty in his voice making her want to weep. He rested his forehead against hers, his hand cupping her cheek.  

“I need ye and I can’t give ye up. I willna.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm.

“At least no’ wi’out trying to reason wi’ ye, first.”

“How can you have me like this?” she asked again, starting to run out of excuses to push him away. Though it was a legitimate question. It was beyond her understanding how this man still wanted her.

He smiled then, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Ye dinna understand, do ye? I’ll have ye anyway I can, Claire. There’s no’ other way for me to go about it.”

“Ever since my mam and brother passed, I’ve been so angry with the world. I was lost and in a rage I never thought I’d come out from. I was suffocatin’ and barely holdin’ my head above water in order not to drown. Then I met ye, and it was as if I stepped outside on a cloudy day and suddenly the sun came out.”

“Do you forgive me then?” Claire ran her finger along the lines of his face, her whisky eyes locked with his.

“Forgiven, Sassenach.” He held her face in his palms as if she was the most delicate thing in the world. Claire wasn’t aware of it, but to him, that was exactly she was.

“But I need ye to promise me something.”

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“Promise me no matter what happens or how ye feel, ye’ll always talk to me about it? And promise me ye’ll voice yer fears wi’ me, too. I’m no’ askin’ ye to not keep secrets from me when need be. But no lies.”

During her twenty-seven years on Earth, Claire never confessed her feelings to anyone. Anytime something happened, she kept it all for herself.  _Buried it._  She never opened her heart to anybody, but she was ready to start now.

“I promise.” She cupped his cheeks, a smile finally forming on her lips. The same ones that burned for his.  _To kiss them._

“But Jamie…it’s not your job to save me, you know that, right? No matter what you do, what you say, if I don’t want to save myself, it’ll be worthless from your part.”

“And so? Do ye want to, a nighean?” His eyes pierced into her soul. One she laid bare for him to see.  _The good. The ugly._ All the things she never dared to show anybody else. All there for him to see.

“Yes,” Claire answered, determination floating in the whisky of her eyes.  

“Then I’ll be there.” His smile grew. “Holdin’ yer wee hand in mine as long as ye need it.” Jamie kissed the tip of her nose, smiling.

“If ye want me to be, of course,” he added softly.

Without a word, Claire pulled his face closer to hers and answered his question by sealing their lips delicately. Mouths gently overlapping one another.

“I do want you, James Fraser,” she whispered against his lips.

Claire held him close for a long time, cradling his head and careful not to remove her catheter in the process. Closing her eyes, she let his soothing sounds rock her softly. She felt lighter. Happier. A relief had taken over her — and no matter what, she knew she’d be alright now. She smiled absently, stroking his copper curls back. Their breathing synchronized like a melody.

After a while, Jamie looked up at her, rubbing her bottom lip with his thumb.

“I’ve missed you,” she said in a low voice, touching his cheek.

“And I ye.” he rested his forehead against hers.

“Can I tell ye another thing?”

She nodded, continuing to stroke his cheek.

“ I’m no’ Frank, Sassenach. I’d never treat ye the way he did nor let anyone hurt ye, aye?”

“I know, darling.” She kissed him again to reassure him of that fact, seeing a slight fear in his eyes. She could feel him relax, and she moved her hands to the back of his neck.

“If there is one thing I’m sure of, Jamie, is that you’re not at all like him. You’ll never be.”

“Good.” Jamie sealed their lips tenderly, holding her close.

“So you’re determined to go to rehab?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Then I’ll come back to Scotland.”

“Just in time for Christmas, mo ghraidh,” he smiled widely.

“I don’t really like Christmas,” she admitted, chuckling softly.

“That is because ye never celebrated at Lallybroch,” He kissed her once more. “There isna a more beautiful time to be there, I can assure ye.”

“Then I can’t wait to celebrate it there, with you.” She rubbed her nose against his, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin.  

“But I’m afraid the cottage willna be free for ye to stay at, Sassenach.”

“Oh no?” She looked at him, unable to prevent another smile forming on her lips.

“Nay, but I can offer ye an alternative such as the Laird’s bedroom. The bed is verra big, and so is the closet, and it will be free for ye. If ye dinna mind sharing the bed wi’ a furnace.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t mind at all. It keeps me warm at night.”

“Then ‘tis all yours when ye come.” His lips brushed her forehead and he smiled.

“Now will ye rest some more? I’ll go and call Simon to tell him ye are awake and I’ll go and get ye some food. Ye must be famished.”

“How do you know exactly what I need when I need it?” She couldn’t help her mischievous grin, her eyebrows raised in question.

“Let me keep some of the mystery, eh?” Jamie kissed the tip of her nose and carefully got up, covering her properly again.

Claire watched as Jamie walked out of the room, giving her a half-assed wink only he had the secrets to, and she smiled. Feeling her feeble heart starting to beat again.


	14. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas chapter in the middle of a heatwave, because why not?! The epilogue is coming on Thursday! 
> 
> Thank you to all of you for reading and leaving feedback. I love writing these two dearly and I'm not ready to post the Epilogue on Thursday! 
> 
> Enjoy <2

There was a magical atmosphere around Christmas time, though Claire never quite understood the excitement for it.  _At least, not until now._ Maybe it was because she found herself back in Scotland. Or maybe because this year, she’ll actually celebrate the holiday with people she loved. Gazing outside the car’s window, the mountains covered in thin layers of snow, she realized her excitement might be because, for the first time since her parents’ passing, she had found the home she had longed for so long.  _That made all the difference._ **  
**

She had spent the last four weeks at a private rehab center in Gloucestershire. Away from the hubbub of London and the chaos that was her life there. Away from everything and everyone. Away from her old demons.  _She felt better. Recharged. Happy._  And the knowledge she’d be back in Jamie’s arms very soon wasn’t lost on her.

Claire had slightly lied about the date of her arrival at Lallybroch. She told everyone she would return on the 23rd of December  _— when in fact, it had been the 21st._  A little lie, only to surprise Jamie when he’d least expect her. She also selfishly wanted some quiet time together with the Scot before Moira, Geillis, and Simon showed up to welcome her and to celebrate Christmas with her and Jamie.

Once the driver paid, she walked the pathway up to the estate, hoping Jamie wouldn’t spot her. She quickly glanced at the cottage and smiled, the sight making her heart squeeze with happiness. The first time she had come here felt like a million years ago. Her mental state quite the contrast as to what it was now. She felt lighter.

The noise of footsteps in the snow alerted her of someone approaching. Turning around, she saw him. Broad and tall. His fiery hair covered by a grey knitted hat of his own doing, and a matching scarf. He was carrying logs of wood from the trunk of the car to the porch. Sensing her, the Scot looked up and smiled, continuing his task.   

“Good morning, Sassenach,” he said nonchalantly, carrying the logs towards the house.

“Morning, grumpy bear,” she answered, a bemused smile on her face. Crossing her arms, she waited for him to realize she was actually here. Something that took a few seconds to process.

Jamie froze, his back to her. Slowly, he straightened and turned around to look at her again, his smile widening, “Sassenach!”

“Surprise,” she grinned, walking over to him.

Jamie let the wood fall onto the snowy grass and opened his arms to welcome her into an embrace. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held him tightly and sealed their lips, feeling his arms coming around her waist to hold her tighter.

“Hello,” she whispered against his lips, stroking his chin.

“Ye were no’ meant to be back for a few more days.” He kissed the tip of her nose, lifting her up.

“I can sleep in the cottage until the 23rd if you’d rather not have me around—”

He stole the rest of her sentence with a kiss and smirked against her lips., “Nay. I’m verra happy to see ye home, Sassenach.”

Holding her tightly, Jamie buried his face into the crook of her neck. “Christ, I’ve missed ye.”

“And I’ve missed you,” she smiled, kissing his cheek.

Jamie looked up at her, smiling in return. With one hand, he grabbed her bag and then proceeded to carry her inside the house.

“Jamie, your logs?” Looking behind her, she held onto him and chuckled.

“Logs can wait, Sassenach.” He shut the front door with his foot and let her bag fall down on the floor before kissing her again.

***********

They laid tangled together on the Chesterfield, a plaid covering them; the crackling fireplace the only sound in the room.

Claire rested her head on his chest, slowly stroking his side with the tip of her fingers. Eyes closed, she let his steady breathing soothe her.  _A sound she had discovered was now essential to her, no matter what._  She smiled, nuzzling his chest.

“Welcome home,” Jamie whispered, placing a kiss on top of her head.

“It does feel like home, indeed.” She looked up at him, smiling tenderly. “It’s the first time I’ve felt this way about any place.”

“The Highlands are magical, Sassenach. I dinna think I shall remind ye of this again,” he smiled, stroking her hair back.

“No you don’t,” she grinned, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “You, Moira, and Geillis weren’t lying about it when I first arrived. Though I’m still pretty sure Moira might be some sort of witch.”

Jamie laughed softly, nodding. “Everyone believes her to be, aye. I think she likes that fact.”

“I think so too,” Claire smirked, moving slightly and turning onto her side, facing him.

“How are ye?” he asked, cupping her cheek — a smile not leaving his gorgeous face.

“I’m doing well and I’m happy to be back here,” she smiled warmly, rubbing her nose against his.

“And how’s yer wee heart, a nighean?”

“It’s beating, so I’m not complaining,” she cuddled him. “And it’s back on track, so don’t worry about it.”

“Good.” Jamie kissed the tip of her nose, smiling. “But ye missed an opportunity to say somethin’ cheesy.”

“Something like it's beating just for you?” Her eyebrows raised and she couldn’t help but smirk. “It’s not completely false, if I’m honest. I’m just not as good as you when it comes to cheesy talk.”

“I think ye should give yerself more credit than that, Sassenach.” The rumble of his laugh echoed against the skin of her neck and she smiled, holding him close.

“Did you hear about Frank?” she asked softly, feeling him tense under her.

“What has he done, now?”

“Got himself arrested at his hotel room in Dublin. Someone called the police to file a noise complaint on him, and when they arrived, they found him with a bunch of hookers and quite intoxicated. I guess it was a matter of time before it happened.” She shrugged, feeling little empathy for her ex-boyfriend.

“Is he gonna go to jail, then?”

“Most likely, yeah. That was quite a lot of hookers for one man alone.” Claire couldn’t help but look up with a grin. Something which turned his pinched mouth into a smile.

“Good riddance.” He kissed her lips, holding her closer.  

“You know, he came to see me before I ended up at the hospital.”

“He what?” Jamie sat up slightly, looking at her. “What did he want from ye?”

“Nothing much, apparently. He just wanted to warn me that I’d ruin my life without his help.”

“Weel, seems to me Frank Randall is no’ verra bright, Sassenach.” Jamie placed a kiss on her forehead. “I knew that already when he let ye go.” He caressed her cheek.

“And if he tries anything, I swear to ye he’ll have to explain himself to me first.”

“I doubt he will.” She held him against her, resting her head on his chest again. “Frank is my past, I don’t want to look back.”

“Do ye regret things in yer life, Sassenach?” he asked softly, lifting her chin up for her to look at him.

“No,” she said sincerely, “Maybe it was meant to be all along, or maybe if I had done things differently, I would never have met you. I can’t be sure. What I do know is that all the things I’ve done led me to you, and for that reason alone, I could never regret them.”

His lip flicked up into a shy smile and he cupped her cheek. His hand was warm against her freezing skin. “I like the way ye look at it, Sassenach.”

“I don’t like to dwell on regrets. I never have and I have no reason to now.” Claire sealed their lips. Softly. Tenderly. A smile forming on hers against his.

“And I can honestly say I’ve never been happier than I am right this moment,” she whispered, holding him tightly.

“Neither have I, a nighean.” He rolled them over slowly, his head resting on her bare breasts and his arms tightening around her.

Stroking his curls back, her eyes travelled around the room and noted something. “Jamie? Why is the tree so bare?”

“Weel, firstly I havena celebrated Christmas in a while; and secondly, I wanted to wait for ye to arrive to decorate it together.” He looked up at her, smiling. “And to take out the decorations from the attic.”

“I wonder why us two scrooges decided to host a Christmas party this year,” she chuckled, sitting up. “We could order pizzas. I’m sure Moira, Geillis, and Simon wouldn’t mind.”

“I dinna think so either, but I think a well-decorated tree would be nice,” he smiled, leaning up to place a kiss on her back.

She turned her head to look at him, smirking, “Well, why are you still naked? Let’s go get those decorations!”

“Ye’re still naked too, Sassenach.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making her laugh.

Getting up, Claire grabbed the plaid from him and wrapped it around her body. “Say that again?”

She grabbed her clothes from the floor and walked away, still laughing.

“Sassenach!” he pouted, though she couldn’t see it.

“I can’t hear you!” Her voice echoed from the hall while she walked upstairs. It took Jamie approximately two minutes to get upstairs, dressed in his boxers and the white t-shirt she had removed off his body a few hours ago. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her unpack her bag, wearing only her lace knickers.

“Do ye do that on purpose to drive me insane, or have ye really no’ notion of how sexy ye are?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t think you’d be so quick to get upstairs,” she responded jokingly, looking at him. Claire grabbed a t-shirt and put it on, much to his disappointment.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. “So, should we get those decorations from the attic?”

“Ye look like the most excited child and ‘tis verra endearing, Sassenach.” Smiling, Jamie took her hand and led her outside the bedroom and towards the attic.

“Is it so obvious?” she laughed, following him.

“Aye.” He stopped and looked at her, pulling her closer. “But ‘tis cute.”

“Don’t distract me.” She kissed his cheek and pulled away from him before walking up the stairs to the attic.

Jamie followed closely, a grin not leaving his face for even a brief second, and opened the door for her. “Dinna mind the mess, eh? I haven’t been up here in a wee while.”

“When have I, ever?” She raised her eyebrows, looking at him with a smirk.

“Aye, ye’re as messy as I am.”

“Even more so.” She smacked his bum and started to walk around the attic, her eyes carefully scanning the room and its contents.

They stopped at a canvas, covered by a piece of white fabric. Frowning, she wandered over to it and carefully uncovered the artwork. It was a picture of a woman sitting on a chair, holding two little boys on her lap. All three of them ginger-haired.

Claire turned around to look at Jamie, who was observing her. She smiled. “Is that who I think it is?”

Nodding, he walked towards her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Aye. That’s my mam, my brother, and myself. She painted it a long time ago.”

“Your mother painted it?” Her eyebrows raised in question, surprised at Ellen MacKenzie’s talent. Her heart squeezed lightly, knowing she’d never have the chance to meet her and thank her for Jamie.

“She was verra talented,” he smiled against her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “She painted all the ones in the hall, too. I dinna ken why we took that one away.”

“You should put it back,” she smiled in return, her fingers gently tracing his hands.

“Ye’re right.” He kissed her cheek, holding her closer. “Can ye bring it downstairs? I’ll grab the boxes of decorations and meet ye in the living room.”

“Of course!”

***********

The first thing Claire did on Christmas morning was to look at Jamie, peacefully asleep next to her. He was lying on his side, facing her. Red curls a mess and the sweetest smile on his face. The crisp light coming through the window to reflect against his toned body. A need to wake him up and make love to him on the spot almost took over her, but instead, she decided to get up and make him some breakfast.

Geillis, Simon, and Moira would arrive around lunch, which meant she and Jamie would have some time to spend together before that. She intended to take full advantage of it; never mind the fact they had just spent the last three days hidden at Lallybroch, in their peaceful bubble.

Carefully, Claire arose and covered him properly, kissing his forehead by the same occasion. She grabbed her tartan pyjamas from the floor and put them on before making her way downstairs.

The house smelled of pine needles and bourbon. The lights from the tree reflected into the hall, and the scent of the apple pie they had prepared the night before was still hanging in the air.

Once in the kitchen, she started on the drinks, putting the ground coffee and water in the Bialetti before placing it on the stove, but not turning it on just yet. She opened the cupboards to find the eggs, still familiarizing herself with her surroundings. Finding none, she decided to go and get them herself in the chicken coop.

Claire put her wellies and hat on, grabbing her pack of smokes on the way out.

A cigarette dangling from her lips, she made her way into the garden, in search of the eggs. Thankfully the snow had melted, leaving only a thin residue on the grass, crunching under her steps. She sat on the bench by the barn and removed the cigarette, looking around her.  She took a deep and long breath, letting the fresh air of the Highlands cleanse her lungs. Absently, she smiled — realizing just how much improvement she had made since arriving here back in October.

She didn’t find the need to smoke; instead, she put the cigarette into her pocket.

Claire spent twenty-seven years yearning for a place to call home. For a place to go back to and simply know. Lallybroch was this place now. With Jamie by her side, she’d be just fine.

After what seemed like a long time, she finally made her way towards the chicken coop. Once inside, she grabbed a half-dozen eggs and put them in the little basket she had with her before her eyes landed on Gary.

Smirking, she walked over to the rooster and took him in her arms. “You’re not supposed to be in here, mate. Leave the ladies alone.” She grabbed the basket and walked out of the coop with the rooster.

“What are ye two doing?” Jamie stood in the garden, arms crossed and a grin on his sleepy face. He was wearing his own tartan pyjamas and slippers.

“I went to grab eggs for breakfast but this one was in the coop,” she grinned, putting Gary on the grass.

“Aye, he likes to go flirtin’,” Jamie chuckled, holding out his hand to her. “Come here, I’m cold.”

Grabbing his hand, Claire stopped for a brief second to seal their lips before dragging him back into the kitchen by the back door.

Placing the basket on the table, she removed her wellies and hat. But before she had the time to do anything else, Jamie had pulled her into a warm embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tiptoeing to rub her nose against his.

“Merry Christmas, my darling one,” she whispered against his lips before kissing them.

His grip tightened around her and he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Sassenach.”

“You know, I was about to make you breakfast and bring it up to you in bed, so if you would be kind enough to go back upstairs, I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” he asked, knowing full well the answer already by the smirk on his face.

“Actually, you don’t,” she grinned, patting his butt.

“I’ll head up, then.” Jamie gave her ass a good squeeze and her neck a kiss before walking out of the kitchen, still smirking.

It took approximately fifteen minutes for Claire to whip up two good-looking omelettes, toasts, and coffee. When she walked back into the bedroom, Jamie was back in bed, his pyjama shirt removed and hanging over the chair. He was leaning against the headboard, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’ve heard ye swear more times than I care to count, Sassenach.”

“Be rude to me and you’re not going to eat anything,” she grinned, placing the tray on the bed.

Jamie grabbed her hand, placing a kiss into her palm. “But it does smell delicious.”

“Before you eat, I want to give you your pre-Christmas present.”

“Now?” He frowned, looking at her.

“Yes, now,” Claire grinned, opening the wardrobe. She had stored all her clothes into it, but kept his present into her little suitcase. Taking it out, she opened the luggage and took out a wrapped package.

“I’m curious,” he grinned, sitting up straighter.

Claire sat on the edge of the bed and handed it to him before kissing his lips., “Merry Christmas, again, my lad.”

“Thank ye,” he mumbled against her lips before starting his task of opening his gift with the delicacy of a five-year-old.

“Oh, Sassenach!” His smile widened once he discovered his gift. A matching set of a knitted hat and scarf. The same one he had helped her start on their first visit to the factory.

“It’s probably a bit wonky, but it should fit alright. At least, I hope,” she smiled, taking the hat and putting it on his head.

“It fits perfectly,” he confirmed, cupping her chin to kiss her. “And we match now!”

“I learnt from the best.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close.

“‘Tis already the best Christmas I ever had,” he whispered, cradling her head.

“The first of many.” She looked up, the repressed emotions from the last few days coming up to her eyes in the form of unshed tears.

“Oh, aye,” he smiled, stroking a stray curl away from her face. Jamie leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Their lips overlapping.

At that moment, Claire pulled away slowly and looked straight into his blue eyes. She told him something she never told anyone in her life before then. Something she had been terrified to say, until now.

_“I love you, Jamie.”_


	15. Epilogue

_**3 years later** _ **  
**

Claire sat in her dressing room, finishing the last touches of her makeup. The Rolling Stones playing softly on the record player behind her. The notes of “Miss You” soothing her nervousness like a magic stream travelling through her veins. It was the last show of her world tour. In Vegas, no less, and she could feel the exhaustion taking a toll on her body. Yet, she had never felt better. 

She missed home  _— and Jamie —_  dearly, but in a few days she’d be back in Scotland and spending some well-deserved quiet time with her favourite Scot. The last three years since their meeting had brought so much lightness and happiness to her life, and sometimes she still couldn’t believe it. 

Jamie had been with her for most of the tour, but he had to stay back at Lallybroch for the few dates left in America. They texted one another every day, as well as facetiming and rambling about anything and everything on the phone for hours until one of them would fall asleep. She missed him dearly and the sound of his voice wasn’t enough to keep her satisfied. The last two months passed in a slow blur. Everything was too fast, yet not fast enough. 

_One last show._  Then this time tomorrow, she would be on a plane back home. 

_Home._

Claire had never grasped the concept of it. _Not until she met Jamie._  Now, home was a tangible place. With walls sheltering her from the cold. Shelves of books that stored her memories. Multiple vases to fill with wildflowers from the garden. But most of all, home was the two arms that held her safely every night. The lips stamping the back of her neck every morning to wake her up. The sea blue eyes looking at her with so much love floating in them, she almost wept every time. Home was a long time coming, but it had all been worth it. 

It took her a long time to decide what to do with her career. She knew she had to heal herself before making any bold decisions. But she also knew music was part of her  _— a part she could never permanently shut out_. Elizabeth was a piece of herself. One she had let slip away for far too long. One she finally took back ownership of. Claire and Elizabeth were one and the same. Two pieces of the same person.  _One complementing the other._

_So she kept Elizabeth._  She wrote an album and dedicated it to the one person who always had her back for the last three years and who would for the rest of her life.  _Jamie._

It was almost 8:30 p.m. which meant, in Scotland, it was somewhere around 4 a.m. Jamie was an early bird, but she decided she wouldn’t try to call him before the show; she’d wait a few more hours and catch him before it was her turn to go to bed and his turn to start the day. 

Claire finished her cup of tea and dabbed some red lipstick on. She ran her fingers through her curls, slowly brushing them, and finally stood up. She checked herself in the mirror and smiled, pleased with herself. 

A knock came, notifying her it was time to go. 

Claire walked down the long hallway towards the stage, adjusting her earpiece and her guitar strapped to her side. The more steps she took, the more Elizabeth emerged.  _Her posture changed. Her nervousness evaporated, as did the lump in her throat._

Simon placed the mediator into her palm and winked, “Good show, babe.” 

She managed a silent “thank you” and simply smiled. Hearing the drums. The base. The music starting. The screams increasing. Her name, over and over again. The goosebumps erupted on her skin and Claire stepped into the spotlight. 

_One she wasn’t afraid of anymore._

**********

Claire collapsed on her bed, enveloped in her bathrobe after a long and warm shower. Closing her eyes, she let the last of her adrenaline from the show leave her. She was famished and decided now was a good time to have some greasy American food. She grabbed the room service menu and attentively studied it, still laying down. 

She was about to grab the phone to order when her own cell phone went off, the screen lighting up with a picture of Jamie holding Adso that she had taken a few months back. Sitting up, she answered. “Hello, stranger.” 

“Sassenach.” His voice immediately made her smile, even if he sounded sleepy and grumpy.  _He always did in the morning._  She could picture his childlike face and his red curls all over the place. She couldn’t wait to get home and kiss those plump lips. 

“Well, good morning!”

“Good night?” he chuckled softly, clearing his raspy voice. 

“Almost, yeah. Food first though, I’m starving.” 

“I bet ye are, a nighean.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I will have breakfast shortly myself.” 

“Will you make me some porridge when I come back? I miss it,” she pouted, though he couldn’t see her. “And apparently even expensive hotels in America don’t have decent porridge.” 

“Now that is a tragedy,” he grinned over the phone. She could hear him move around and pictured him on his way from their bedroom to the kitchen downstairs. “I’ll make ye all the porridge ye want, I promise. And anything else ye’d like to eat.” 

“Perfect.” She absently played with a curl, looking at the view from her window. 

“What did ye order to eat now?” he asked. 

“Nothing yet, I was studying the menu when you called. I will probably end up eating a lot of fries.”

“Verra good choice, aye.”

“And then I was planning on calling you, but you beat me to it, which I am not mad about,” she smiled. 

“How was yer wee show? Simon sent me some pictures and videos that I just watched before calling ye.”

“I think it went well! I sure know I had fun, so I hope people got their money’s worth,” she chuckled softly. 

“Of course they did! But I canna wait for ye to get home, Sassenach. It’s too quiet when ye’re no’ around, and I’m no’ used to it.” 

“Do you mean to say that I’m a loud person?” 

“No’ loud no,” he laughed. Her favourite sound on the planet. 

“But ye’re either humming, singing, or swearing. It’s my background noise, and I canna do anythin’ when I don’t have it!’ 

Claire laughed and was about to respond when a knock came at the door. 

“Can you wait a second? I think my dry cleaning is finally back.”

“At this hour?” 

“It’s true that people don’t sleep in Las Vegas, honey. Don’t move!” She put the phone on the bedside table and quickly rose to answer the door. 

Her eyes widened at the sight of the Scot standing in front of her, a mischievous glint in his eyes and still holding his cellphone against his ear. 

“‘Tis no’ the dry cleaning, I’m afraid.”

“You bloody bastard!” She laughed and jumped into his arms, wrapping both her legs and arms around him. 

“Aye, I’m happy to see ye too, Sassenach.” Jamie held her close, smirking. 

Claire cupped his cheeks and kissed him tenderly. The taste of his lips reminded her of home. 

“Did my surprise work?” he whispered, pushing his bag inside with his foot before carrying her back into the room and closing the door. 

“What do you think?” she grinned, stroking the back of his neck. 

“I think I’m a verra good actor,” he smiled before kissing her lips again. “And ye’re welcomin’ me in yer bathrobe? What else could I ask for?” 

“That wasn’t specifically for you, but you’re welcome, nonetheless.” She held him close, resting her head on his shoulder. His arms tightened around her and he held her for a long time without a sound in the room, save for their beating hearts synchronized. 

“How was the flight?” she finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“Slept the whole way,” he grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. 

“So you’re not tired…” she purred, her breath caressing the skin of his neck. 

“Nay,” he whispered, giving her bum a long squeeze before laying her onto the bed. “But maybe ye are?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

With a swift move, Claire pulled onto the belt of her bathrobe and let it open, slipping away from her naked body. “What do you actually think, grumpy bear?” 

He made a low noise of satisfaction deep in his throat, his eyes darkened with lust as he watched her. “I think that I need to have ye now or die, Sassenach.” 

Her laugh echoed in the room and she sat up quickly before pulling him down with her by his belt. She intended to ravish him.   
  
 ***********

“Sassenach?” Jamie whispered, his breath tickling her porcelain skin.

She groaned, half conscious and the other half asleep. His voice was too distant for her to pay proper attention to it so early in the morning. “Why are you already awake?” she mumbled, turning away from him. 

“Jetlag,” he grinned, pulling her closer to him. 

His cold hands against her bare skin made her wince but she smiled and cuddled him. “You’re annoying.” 

“Seems like ye became the grumpy one, Sassenach.” He stamped her neck again with kisses while she tried to protest. 

Giggling, she opened her eyes and turned around to look at him. “Your grumpiness has been rubbing off on me.” 

“This no’ my grumpiness I wanted to rub on ye,” he whispered against her lips and she laughed uncontrollably. 

“Good, ye’re awake!” Jamie kissed the tip of her nose. 

“You can’t keep me up for most of the night and then wake me up two hours after falling asleep, you know?” she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s rude.” 

“I heard ye scream things last night but none of them were complaints.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Claire smacked his butt and laughed, laying on her back again. 

He rested his head on her chest, looking up at her with a mischievous smile. His index finger travelled up her leg, to her stomach, and finally lingered between her breasts before circling her pierced nipple. 

“You really love that thing, don’t you?” Smirking, she ran her fingers through his copper curls. 

“I really love that thing, aye.” He placed a kiss on her breast, smiling. 

“I’m going to have to get rid of it soon enough, though.” “She looked at him, her eyes shining.

“Why?” he pouted. 

“Because I can’t breastfeed with that on,” Claire smirked, watching his expression shift slightly from confusion to understanding. 

His eyes widened, travelling down to look at her stomach then back up again to look at her, sitting up slightly, “Are ye? Truly?!”

She cupped his cheeks, nodding with a broad smile. “We’re having a baby!” 

“Oh, Claire!” Jamie held her close, his voice breaking with emotion. 

Claire had been off the pill for the past few months, after they both decided to start trying for a child, but without putting pressure on themselves. They were both healthy and ready to be parents. They let the universe decide when the best time would be, without asking themselves too many questions about it. 

“A wee bairn.” He looked at her, the widest smile plastered on his face and his eyes damp with tears. 

“Not so wee if he or she takes after you,” she chuckled, kissing him tenderly. 

Jamie laughed, holding her close and kissing her temple, “Tis true, aye.” 

“Are you happy then?” she asked, stroking his chin with her index finger. 

“I’ve never been happier, Sassenach.” He cupped her cheek, smiling. “I wake up every day thinkin’ I canna love ye more than I did the day before, and yet every day I’m proven wrong.” 

“Yeah, it’s overwhelming at times how much I love you,” she admitted, melting into his touch. “And now I’ll have two Frasers to worry about,” she chuckled, laying back down with him in her arms. 

Jamie moved slightly, pulling the cover down to look at her stomach. He bent his head down to place a kiss on it, whispered a few things in Gaelic before resting his ear against it. 

“Sassenach?” He asked, after a while. 

“Mmh?” She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling. 

“We’re livin’ in sin even more now…” He watched her, stroking her side. 

“Well, yeah, we are,” she grinned, “But you know my Catholicism is nominal, at best.” 

Jamie took her hand and kissed her palm, “There are quite a few weddin’ chapels around these parts.”

“You want to elope?” she grinned. “Moira and Geillis would kill us if we do that.”

“We can have a big party at Lallybroch sometime, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Jamie sat up, grinning in return. “So, what do ye say? Would ye marry me?” 

“Today?” She raised her eyebrows, sitting up in turn. 

“Today.” He grabbed his trousers from the floor and took out a small velvet box. He presented it to her, opening it to reveal two thin gold bands. 

“And you came prepared,” she sighed happily, looking at the rings. 

“Could ye answer my question, Sassenach? I still dinna ken if ye want to marry me or no’ and I’m gettin’ quite nervous ye’re about to say no – ” 

“Of course I want to marry you,” She sealed their lips, smiling widely. “And in front of a bad Elvis impersonator, at that!” 

***********

“Can ye come out, Sassenach?” Jamie sat on the bed, dressed in a pair of Levi’s with a matching jacket. 

He was holding a bouquet of daisies, waiting for his future wife to finally come out of the bathroom. Claire opened the door slowly to reveal herself. She thought she wouldn’t bother with a dress but last minute decided to go find one at one of the boutique downstairs. It was short and quite open on the sides and she didn’t bother with a bra. 

_They were getting married in Vegas, they might as well look the part.  
_

“Look at ye.” Jamie got up, smiling broadly. “Ye look so beautiful, Sassenach.” 

“Thank you very much, this dress was a bargain at the Gucci store,” She did a little twirl, grinning. 

“‘Tis perfect.” He walked over to her and kissed the tip of her nose. “Those are for ye.” He handed her the bouquet. 

“Thank you, darling.” She sealed their lips. “You look dashing as well. I like the Canadian tuxedo look.” 

“I dinna intend to get married twice so I thought I’d make an effort,” Jamie smirked, grabbing the rings from the table. 

“Ready, Sassenach?” He held out his hand, his eyes looking at her with awe and love. So much love. “Simon’s waitin’ for us at the chapel, already.”

“I’m ready, my love.” She took his hand and together they walked out of the suite and down to the main hall. 

Claire knew people had recognized her as they walked together to the chapel, and it would only be a matter of time before the news came out on the internet and in the press, but she didn’t care. After this, they’d be back in their peaceful bubble in Scotland.  _Away from the crowd and the spotlight._

The place was filled with typical Vegas stereotypes. Pink walls and a matching floral carpet. The sight made Claire smile, the idea amusing her. It was truly the perfect wedding already. She just wished their friends were here to celebrate. 

It was only when they made their way into the actual chapel that her eyes widened at the sight of Moira and Geillis standing by Simon, the three of them grinning broadly. 

“Surprise!” The two Scots exclaimed, making their way over to the soon-to-be-married couple. 

“I had to bring them wi’ me,” Jamie grinned, watching the three women hugging one another tightly. 

“Ye were quite certain she would say yes, eh?” Geillis teased him, smirking. 

“Why wouldn’t I have?” Claire looked at them, chuckling. 

“Oh, I’m so happy for ye two!” Moira exclaimed, hugging her again. “And Christ, I never thought I’d ever see Las Vegas wi’ my own two eyes!” 

“She’s actually verra good at poker, ye should have seen her earlier goin’ around the casino earlier.” Geillis shook her head with a grin.

“Aye aye, but enough abou’ me! We’re here for a weddin’ if I recall!” Moira clapped her hands. 

“Indeed we are,” Jamie smiled, kissing Claire’s head. 

The ceremony didn’t take much longer than fifteen minutes. Both of them standing hand-in-hand in front of what was supposed to be Elvis but looked more like Liberace  _— much to everyone’s amusement._

They exchanged vows and kisses while their friends cheered in the background and froze the ceremony in time with countless pictures. 

Claire had never been one to believe her wedding was supposed to be one of the best days of her life, but it was. _It really had been._  Without fuss, spontaneous, and full of love. Exactly the way she always intended to live her life. 

Marlowe Fraser was born a few months later, at Lallybroch. With dark curls like his mother and blue eyes like his father. Followed by his sister, Lou, two years later. The little family lived on the estate when they were not following Claire around the world on tour. But her career eventually slowed down, because she realized her favourite thing to do was be a mother and a wife. She no longer wanted to waste any time away from the three loves of her life. 

Her addiction didn’t haunt her at night anymore. And during the rare times when she thought about drugs, like some distant and blurry memory, Jamie’s arms came around her and she talked to him about it. But she never felt the need to consume the illicit substances again. 

The rush of happiness she felt at the sight of Jamie, Marlowe, and Lou at the breakfast table, or the view of them cuddling together in bed in the morning, was enough to sustain her for the rest of the day and for the rest of her life.  

She came a long way from the lost soul who had stepped into the Highlands in search of herself on a gloomy October morning. It had all been done with the love and support of a very tall and grumpy ginger Scot who, on their first meeting, had seen who she really was.  

 

**The end.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, folks, this story is officially complete! I remember how terrified I was to share this story and no one would actually read it because of the subject matter and I can’t believe how many of you followed along. Thank you SO MUCH for the support and for all the investment you had in these two! I’m sad to say goodbye to grumpy!Jamie and rockstar!Claire but I can’t wait to share a new story with you soon!


End file.
